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Breckie 

GIFT   OF 
J.B,    Peixotto 


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BRECKIE 

Age  Two  Years  and  Nine  Months 


B  R  E  C  K  I  E 

HIS  FOUR  YEARS 
1914-1918 

By 

Mary  Breckinridge  Thompson 


NEW  YORK 

PRIVATELY    PUBLISHED 

1918 


v*^^'* 

<*^ 


f^^j./ip^^ 


7X1 


copybight,  1918, 
By  Mary  Breckinridge  Thompson 


Type-Set,  Printed  and  Bound  by 
J.  J.  Little  &  Ives  Company,  New  York 


/ 


What  alchemy  is  thine^  O  little  child, 

Transmuting  all  our  thoughts,  thou  that  art  dead, 

And  snaking  gold  of  all  the  dross  of  lead 
That  leaves  the  soul's  pure  crucible  defiled? 

— ^Eugene  Lee-Hamilton 


8690C4 


PREFACE 

In  presenting  this  brief  record  of  Breckie's  four  years  to  his 
friends  and  mine  and  a  few  others  whom  I  revere  as  friends 
of  childhood,  I  would  like  to  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  much 
more  of  his  short  life  was  spent  outdoors  than  in  —  something 
unusual  I  think  in  the  annals  of  civilized  infancy.  For  at  least 
seven  or  eight  months  out  of  each  year  he  spent  about  twenty 
hours  of  the  twenty-four  in  the  open  air,  and  this  was  a  tre- 
mendous factor  in  making  his  body  sturdy  and  his  nature  sweet 
I  reared  him  as  carefully  as  I  could  by  those  scientific  laws  of 
child  development  whose  discovery  in  recent  years  has  revolu- 
tionized the  care  of  little  children  in  body  and  mind,  and  this 
partly  explains  his  wholesomeness  and  the  growing  reasonable- 
ness of  his  third  and  fourth  years.  But  Breckie  was  a  creature 
of  higher  endowments  than  my  own  and  I  early  recognized  in  our 
comradeship  together  that  I  led  only  in  maturity,  for  his  were  the 
larger  possibilities.  He  was  not  my  little  child  only  but  my 
master  as  well,  and  the  best  friend  I  ever  had. 

It  will  help  those  who  have  so  tenderly  shared  Breckie's  loss 
with  ijs,  and  to  them  this  is  especially  addressed,  to  learn  that 
recently  I  have  had  good  news  of  him  through  a  friend  who 
is,  unknown  to  all  but  a  most  limited  circle,  a  psychic  of  un- 
usual gifts.  That  I  should  have  this  news  will  be  no  surprise  to 
those  who  have  been  following  the  work  of  the  Society  for 
Psychical  Research  and  especially  the  astonishing  progress  of 
the  last  few  years.  It  has  been  an  inexpressible  blessing  to  learn 
from  old  friends  on  the  other  side  that  Breckie  is  with  his  sister 
and  impressing  all  who  meet  him  over  there,  just  as  he  did  us,  by 
the  wonder  of  his  expanding  mind  and  the  radiance  reflected 
from  his  happy  heart.    In  addition  I  know  that  I  am  often  with 


VI 


PREFACE 


him  when  I  sleep  and  that  the  passing  months  are  not  so  much 
severing  as  uniting  us. 

Now  to  all  who  loved  Breckie,  and  they  were  many,  and  to 
those  who  love  childhood  who  will  see  its  pages,  I  dedicate  this 
book.  To  those  who  have,  like  me,  relinquished  a  loved  child — 
whether  to  death  or  to  human  maturity — I  especially  dedicate 
it  with  the  hope  that  in  reading  of  Breckie  they 

"...  may  chance  to  hear  once  more 
The  little  feet  along  the  floor/' 

Washington,  D.  C. 
August  1st,  1918. 


FIRST  YEAR 


Out  of  the  Everywhere  into  the  Here. 

— George  MacDonald. 


•  •     •     • 


BRECKINRIDGE  THOMPSON  was  bom  at  the  home  of 
his  grandfather  and  grandmother  Breckinridge  in  Fort 
Smith,  Arkansas,  on  the  night  of  the  twelfth  of  January,  1914, 
at  eleven  thirty-five  o'clock.  His  advent  had  been  so  difficult  that 
he  was  three  days  and  nights  in  arriving  and  presented  quite  a 
battered  appearance  to  those  who  first  saw  him.  There  was  a 
big  bruise  on  his  head  and  over  one  ear  and  bad  cuts  in  the 
neck  in  which  an  infection  settled  which  kept  his  life  in  the  bal- 
ance above  two  weeks.  He  was  an  eight  pound  baby,  well  formed 
with  an  exceptionally  fine  head — ^but  so  wrinkled  that  he  looked 
as  if  he  had  just  terminated  a  long  and  philosophic  existence. 

For  hours  after  his  birth  Breckinridge's  hold  on  this  ex- 
istence was  of  the  feeblest.  At  first  he  seemed  quite  lifeless,  and 
over  an  hour  was  spent  in  resuscitation  by  the  doctor  and  two 
trained  nurses  before  respiration  could  be  established  in  even  a 
tolerable  manner,  so  they  told  me  afterwards,  but  I  was  mercifully 
unconscious  then. 

In  one  of  his  books,  Sir  Oliver  Lodge,  speaking  of  the  ar- 
rival of  each  new  life  in  an  embodied  form,  notes  that  there  are 
always  loving  hearts  waiting  to  receive  it  and  eager  prepara- 
tions for  its  coming.  Not  always.  Sir  Oliver;  I  have  myself  at- 
tended confinements  where  no  preparations  had  been  made  and 
no  love  awaited  the  baby's  coming.  But  for  Breckie's  ad- 
vent, the  first  child,  the  first  grandchild,  a  host  of  loyal  hearts 
stood  by,  and  such  was  his  welcome  that  the  morning  stars 
seemed  singing  together  and  the  sons  of  God  shouting  for  joy. 

The  first  two  weeks  after  his  birth  were  really  the  only  hard 
ones  Breckie  ever  knew,  except  the  one  preceding  his  death. 
While  they  lasted  I  lived  from  one  nursing  to  the  next, 
when  every  third  hour  brought  the  little  bandaged  head,  so  hot 
to  the  touch,  and  the  pressure  of  hot  little  hands  against  my 

3 


4  BRECKIE 

breast.  In  a  few  days  the  wrinkled  old-new  face  had  given  way 
to  one  baby-like  and  full,  with  a  real  hunger  look  thereon, 
and  eiicraious  eyes  which  seemed  to  me  to  harbor  an  expression 
like  that  of  Rossetti^s  Blessed  Damozel,  for  "the  wonderment 
had  hardly  gone  firom  that  still  look  of  his."  Puzzled,  he  seemed, 
pondering,  but  "trailing  clouds  of  glory,"  my  little  son. 

Fortunately  I  had  an  abundance,  a  superabundance  of  milk 
and  his  appetite  never  flagged,  so  that  at  the  end  of  the  two 
weeks  of  fever  he  had  gained  in  weight.  His  "immunizing 
fluid,"  the  doctor  called  it;  but  you  willed  to  live,  my  baby, 
and  caught  with  mighty  tugs  at  life. 

The  trained  nurse  who  attended  me  was  an  old  friend  and 
classmate  of  mine  from  St.  Luke's  in  New  York,  Breck's 
Aunty  Biddle,  and  to  her  devoted  care  and  the  doctor's  skill  we 
owed  Breck's  life.  It  was  two  weeks  after  his  birth  before  I 
could  see  other  friends,  even  so  dear  a  friend  as  his  godmother, 
whom  we  called  "Pansy."  Nevertheless  the  friendship  of  many 
hearts  there  and  elsewhere  backed  Breckie  and  me  in  our 
fight  to  pull  through,  and  I  wrote  February  third :  "What  would 
the  world  be  without  them  ?  Friendship  it  really  is  which  makes 
the  closeness  in  human  relationships.  We  loved  my  mother  so 
much  as  children  because  she  entered  into  our  lives  as  a  friend 
and  I  trust  that  Breck  will  be  my  friend  from  his  earliest  con- 
scious moments." 

Before  he  was  a  month  old  the  baby's  superb  appearance  com- 
pensated us  for  all  the  anxiety  we  had  gone  through  in  his  be- 
half. On  February  fourth  I  wrote  my  husband :  "Before  your 
last  visit,  when  Breck's  fever  ran  high,  and  I  was  especially 
anxious,  I  often  thought  of  Frazier  and  of  how  his  mother 
had  nursed  him  through  all  his  childish  illnesses  but  to  lose  him 
when  and  as  she  did.  But  I  thought  too  that  each  day  of  a 
child's  life  from  the  earliest  ones  is  its  own  blessing,  even  if 
the  sum  total  of  them  all  were  never  garnered  in — and  I  would 
have  gone  through  what  I  did  to  have  our  baby  for  only  one 
week  of  him  at  my  breast,  if  that  had  been  all  I  could  keep.  .  .  . 
But  now  you  never  saw  such  a  lusty  fellow." 

Later  in  the  month  I  gave  details  about  him :    "He  is  adorable 


BRECKIE 

Age  Six  Weeks,  with  His  Grandmother 


BRECKIE  5 

in  his  bath  and  likes  it  ...  an  exquisite  baby,  exquisitely  clean, 
fragrant  and  well  cared  for."  "He  is  a  good  baby — well  trained 
that  is — almost  never  frets  at  night — just  wakens,  nurses,  and 
either  goes  right  back  to  sleep  or  plays  with  his  hands.  He  has 
never  known  what  it  is  to  be  picked  up  and  walked  about,  or 
rocked,  and  he  doesn't  expect  it.  His  playing  with  his  hands 
consists  as  yet  in  waving  or  sucking  them."  "He  had  his  first  real 
out-of-doors  airing  on  the  lawn  in  his  carriage  yesterday  (Feb. 
2ath)  between  one  and  two  in  the  afternoon.  Alice  was 
proud  indeed  to  take  him.  I  watched  them  from  the  upstairs 
gallery,  which  is  still  my  only  out-doors." 

On  February  twenty-eighth  I  wrote:  "If  you  were  here  now 
you  would  delight  in  your  son  who  has  been  lying  for  an  hour 
in  his  cradle  cooing  and  waving  his  hands,  and  asking  attention  of 
no  one.  .  .  .  Here  he  fretted  and  I  went  to  him.  While  I  was 
with  him  he  broke  into  one  smile  after  the  other,  his  fat  little  face 
creasing.  I  have  left  him  smiling  and  waving  his  hands.  He 
is  the  j oiliest,  merriest,  heartiest,  hungriest  fellow  of  his  age  I 
ever  saw.  Alice  says  a  gentleman  came  on  the  place  yesterday 
and  called  him  a  whale.  He  was  weighed  yesterday — ^thirteen 
pounds  and  five  ounces,  a  gain  of  fifteen  ounces  in  the  past 
week.  That  is  prodigious.  I  keep  his  weight  on  a  weight  chart 
that  records  the  normal  weight  line  of  the  average  infant  up  to 
fifty-two  weeks.  Our  baby's  weight  is  nearly  four  pounds  more 
than  this  normal  average  for  eight  weeks." 

In  my  journal  I  wrote:  "He  is  my  life  indeed,  and  his  father 
too  worships  him — my  longed-for  baby,  my  despaired-of  baby,  my 
love-life,  my  great  man  in  embryo,  for  whom  high  deeds  are  now 
preparing  and  a  noble  death  attending  a  career  of  lofty  services. 
For  these  an  all-unworthy  but  humbly  eager  mother  must  pre- 
pare you,  Breckinridge,  by  seeking  to  foster  in  you  those  ideals 
which  are  the  best  of  us,  by  keeping  your  young  body  healthy 
and  your  will  in  your  own  control." 


On  March  nineteenth  when   Breckinridge  was  two  months 
and  one  week  old  we  left  the  home  of  his  grandparents  where 


6  BRECKIE 

he  was  bom  and  carried  him  up  into  the  Ozark  mountains,  to 
Crescent  College  at  Eureka  Springs  where  his  father  and  I 
Hved.  With  us  went  an  old-fashioned  negro  woman,  Aunt  Alice,, 
his  first  nurse.  I  was  glad  that  my  boy's  first  months  were  lived 
under  her  kindly  influence  and  in  the  spell  of  her  traditions,  for 
the  old  South  was  his  inheritance  and  I  wanted  him  to  drink  at 
that  spring.    In  my  journal  of  that  period  I  find  I  have  written : 

"I  want  many  things  for  him  and  dream  his  future  as  once 
I  dreamed  my  own,  and  all,  all  that  I  can  gather  in  to  glorify  it 
will  be  gathered  with  the  growing  years.  He  must  know 
the  ways  of  all  the  little  creeping  things,  of  trees  and  birds,  and 
he  must  have  a  garden  plot  and  chickens.  He  shall  ride  and 
swim,  fish  and  hunt.  As  he  grows  older  I  will  open  up  the 
wonders  of  the  dear  tales  I  loved  from  'Alice  in  Wonderland'  to 
*Ivanhoe.'  He  shall  not  want  Ruskin's  'Sesame,'  but  shall  learn 
under  the  Vise  of  old.'  Especially  I  want  so  to  guide  his 
growing  tastes  as  to  help  him  to  develop  himself — not  to  make 
him  over;  and  the  brother  and  sisterhood  without  which  he 
would  miss  the  give  and  take  of  nursery  days  shall  not  be  lacking 
if  I  am  equal  to  the  bearing  of  them  and  Dick  can  make  the 
money  to  feed  and  educate  them.  *0,  bonny  brown  sons  and 
O,  sweet  little  daughters'  of  my  far  dreams,  I  have  realized  one 
of  you — and  he  is  bonnier,  better,  dearer,  than  any  I  ever 
dreamed." 

The  chief  characteristics  of  his  first  months  were  his  immense 
appetite  and  his  love  of  wind  and  fresh  air.  With  the  first  warm 
nights  we  arranged  a  sleeping  porch  for  him  on  a  balcony  off  of 
my  sitting  room  and  he  and  I  slept  out  there  all  summer,  I  on  a 
mattress  on  the  floor  by  his  crib.  Nearly  all  of  his  other  hours 
were  spent  on  the  lawn  in  his  carriage,  or  on  the  ground,  tum- 
bling about  in  grass  and  leaves.  He  grew  brown  as  a  nut  and 
weighed  at  five  months,  naked,  twenty  pounds. 

When  he  fretted  he  could  nearly  always  be  quieted  by  letting 
the  wind  blow  on  his  face.  Once  on  the  sixteenth  of  April, 
when  his  nurse  was  ill  with  tonsilitis  and  his  father  in  Little 
Rock,  I  left  him,  while  I  went  to  supper,  with  my  friend  Celia 
Brinson,  later  his  devoted  "B."     He  behaved  well  until  just 


BRECKIE  7 

before  I  returned,  when  he  suddenly  seemed  to  believe  himself 
deserted  by  his  own  people.  He  looked  at  "B",  saw  that  the 
face  was  not  one  familiar  to  him,  and  burst  into  the  most  deso- 
late of  sobbings  and  tears.  Even  after  I  had  taken  him  he  still 
sobbed  a  little  until  I  carried  him  out  on  to  his  little  balcony, 
hung  in  mid-air,  with  the  lights  of  the  valley  below  and  the 
stars  of  the  sky  above,  and  there,  where  the  wind  blew  full  on 
his  face,  he  soon  fell  quietly  asleep. 

I  find  the  following  brief  records  of  certain  phases  of  his 
development : 

On  April  twenty-second,  aged  three  months  and  ten  days,  he 
first  demanded  his  food  from  Alice's  arms  at  fully  a  yard's  dis- 
tance.   From  so  great  a  distance  he  had  not  noticed  me  before. 

On  April  twenty-fourth  he  first  took  hold  of  and  shook  loudly 
his  dog- faced  rattle. 

On  May  tenth,  a  warm  Sunday  afternoon,  we  put  on  his  first 
short  clothes.  He  lacked  two  days  of  being  four  months  old 
but  weighed  eighteen  pounds  and  ten  ounces  and  looked  so 
huge  that  the  short  clothes  became  him  better  than  the  long. 

On  May  twenty-third  he  first  succeeded,  after  repeated  eflForts, 
in  sucking  his  toe. 

In  his  second  month  he  was  smiling,  but  unfortunately  I  did 
not  record  the  exact  dates  of  the  first  smile  and  laugh.  He 
fairly  beamed  with  smiles  every  morning  upon  Alice  when  she 
came  into  my  room  to  lift  him  from  his  crib.  She  told  me  that 
out  of  doors  when  groups  of  students  or  strangers  approached  his 
carriage  he  would  turn  a  really  appealing  look  at  her,  "as  if.  Miss 
Mary,  as  if  he  was  sayin'  *  Alice  save  me.' "  Again  and  again 
she  shook  her  white  head  and  said  to  me:  "Miss  Mary,  he's  de 
smartest  child  to  his  age  I  ever  see." 

He  was  the  lustiest  I  had  ever  seen,  accustomed  chiefly  to 
the  sickly  specimens  of  my  hospital  days  and  the  far  from  per- 
fect type  of  our  average  civilization. 

Dear  old  Alice  had  to  leave  me,  when  summer  came,  for 
her  daughter's  confinement.  She  sent  me  her  niece  Adella  to 
take  her  place  until  her  return — ^but  in  the  autumn  she  was  ill 
and  the  next  spring  she  died.    I  kept  the  niece  until  I  could  go 


8  BRECKIE 

back  to  Fort  Smith  again,  when  Alice  secured  for  me  one  of  her 
friends — the  "Mammy"  of  my  baby's  second  and  part  of  his 
third  year.  With  Adella,  because  of  her  comparative  inex- 
perience, I  rarely  left  the  boy  alone  for  even  a  couple  of  hours — 
although  she  seemed  reliable  and  willing.  I  find  this  note  in  my 
journal  : 

"I  nurse  him,  boil  his  water,  watch  his  dress,  sponge  for 
the  heat,  sleep  on  the  balcony  by  him  at  night,  keep  him 
four  mornings  a  week  entire  while  Adella  washes  and  irons 
his  clothes — but  also  I  try  to  rest,  exercise  when  it  is  not  too  hot, 
to  carry  him  as  little  as  possible,  and  so  order  my  own  life  as  to 
keep  healthy  and  rested  for  him ;  and  to  this  end  I  am  not  with 
him  always." 

It  was  nearly  a  year  after  his  birth  before  I  had  really  re- 
gained my  strength,  but  I  nursed  him  entirely  for  nine  months. 
Anticipating  a  little  I  will  add  that  in  his  tenth  month  he  re- 
ceived one  bottle  of  suitable  formula  from  Holt,  at  ten  months 
two  bottles,  in  the  eleventh  month  three,  and  at  one  year  ex- 
actly he  gave  up  his  last  breast  feeding  and  was  completely 
weaned,  having  by  that  time  begun  also  to  munch  on  pieces  of 
unsweetened  zwieback  and  to  eat  every  day  a  coddled  egg  and 
strained  cereals.  When  he  was  eight  months  old  I  gave  him 
orange  juice  once  a  day  between  feedings.  Because  there  were 
no  certified  dairies  in  our  locality  I  pasteurized  his  milk  every 
day  from  the  time  of  his  first  bottle  feeding  until  his  last 
illness. 

His  first  tooth  broke  through  the  skin  on  the  nineteenth  of 
July  when  he  was  six  months  and  one  week  old,  and  dentition 
proceeded  satisfactorily  thereafter. 

On  July  seventeenth,  on  my  large,  old-fashioned  tester  bed, 
he  did  his  first  real  creeping  and  succeeded  in  reaching  and  grab- 
bing the  object  of  his  pursuit.  Until  then  such  progress  as  he 
had  made  was  achieved  mainly  by  rolling  from  side  to  side. 

3 

We  spent  the  summer  at  Crescent,  used  in  the  season  as  a 
large  hotel  under  a  manager's  care,  and  hard  it  was  to  suf- 


BRECKIE 
Age  Five  Months,  with  His  Mother  and  Tidy 


• »     •  »,  •  •    • 


BRECKIE  9 

fer  the  intrusions  of  strangers  everywhere  out  of  doors  on  our 
family  life.  My  mother  and  sister  stopped  with  us  on  their 
way  to  Norway,  where  they  were  touring  with  my  brother  Car- 
son when  the  great  war  thundered  in  upon  a  horrified  world. 
I  sat  out  of  doors  with  my  baby  and  read  and  thought  of  it 
until  my  mind  reeled,  and  often  I  said:  "Oh,  little  boy,  what 
does  the  future  hold  for  you  apd  me — for  would  not  the  sword 
pierce  through  my  own  soul  also  ?"  It  was  to  pierce  indeed,  but 
not  for  him  the  wars  of  this  world — only  for  me,  for  me. 

My  mother  and  sister  stopped  with  us  again  on  their  way 
back  to  Fort  Smith  after  they  had  returned  from  Europe.  At 
that  time  the  thing  Breck  most  wanted  to  do  was  to  throw  a 
rock  (the  name  by  which  we  designate  stones  in  Arkansas  from 
pebbles  to  boulders),  but  he  could  not,  in  his  eighth  month,  com- 
pass the  act. 

My  little  fox  terrier  Tidy  fairly  gloated  over  having  rocks 
thrown  for  her  to  pick  up  and  bring  back.  She  seldom  saw  one 
of  us  sitting  on  the  ground  without  bringing  a  rock,  laying  it 
down  beside  us,  and  then  standing  by  with  the  fanatical  light 
of  a  single-minded  enthusiast  in  her  eyes  and  an  ingratiating  wag 
of  her  stub  tail.  As  we  threw  the  rocks  Breck  watched  us  with 
intense  earnestness,  then  he  would  pick  up  a  rock  himself,  grasp 
it  tight,  and  throw  with  his  arm — ^but  he  never  let  go  the  rock, 
kept  it  clasped  tight  in  his  moist  little  hand,  and  thereupon 
appeared  utterly  puzzled  as  to  why  it  didn*t  spin  off  into  space 
like  ours.  He  wanted  desperately  to  throw  it  and  tried  his 
hardest,  but  could  not  let  it  go. 

On  August  twenty-third  he  spoke  his  first  word,  with  knowl- 
edge of  its  meaning.  The  day  before  his  grandmother  had  spent 
much  time  in  showing  him  his  celluloid  duck  and  saying :  "Duck, 
duck."  On  the  twenty-third,  upon  his  being  shown  the  duck 
again,  he  at  once  called  out :  "  'Uck,  'uck."  In  his  eighth  month 
he  also  began  calling  his  father  "daddy"  and  "dadda"  and  he 
knew  Tidy  by  name  but  could  not  call  her.  Whenever  he  heard 
her  called  he  tried  to  bark  like  her.  He  also  waved  "bye-bye" 
and  shook  his  head  solemnly  sidewise  at  us  when  we  said: 
"no,  no." 


lo  BRECKIE 

But  his  most  characteristic  and  growing  trait,  even  at  eight 
months,  was  his  ready  humor  for  all  situations,  even  a  bump 
on  the  head^ — and  when  he  laughed  his  whole  face  creased,  his 
mouth  expanded  broadly,  and  his  eyes  actually  snapped  with 
joy.  One  day  he  was  sitting  on  the  lawn  in  his  wooden  pen  when 
Tidy  came  up  on  the  outside  and  began  digging  a  hole  with  her 
forefeet.  Breck  watched  her  solemnly  for  a  moment  and  then 
began  to  laugh  and  laughed  so  hard  he  had  to  hold  to  the  sides  of 
his  pen  for  support. 

We  often  took  him  driving  during  that  summer,  usually  to  a 
small  body  of  water  hid  against  the  side  of  a  mountain  and  sur- 
rounded by  tall  pines,  called  the  Sanitarium  Lake.  There  we  had 
picnic  suppers  and  I  always  carried  along  his  rubber  folding 
bath  tub  for  him  to  lie  in,  well  out  of  reach  of  chiggers  and  ticks. 
Afterwards  we  drove  back  in  the  cool  of  night  under  the  stars 
or  moon  with  him  sleeping  in  my  arms.  In  the  warmest 
weather  he  wore  only  a  gauze  band  and  diaper,  the  Arnold 
knit  style  of  diaper.  He  had  socks  and  linen  bootees  as  well 
as  thin  cotton  shirts  and  nainsook  dresses  for  cooler  days  with 
long  silk  stockings  and  light  wraps  for  the  coolest.  Sometimes 
he  and  his  father  and  I  drove  alone,  just  with  Tidy,  but  often  a 
dear  cousin,  Katherine,  and  a  dear  friend,  Eleanor,  spending  the 
summer  at  Crescent,  were  with  us,  and  once  or  twice  another 
friend  who  bore  Breck's  name. 

Breckinridge  early  began  climbing  about  and  at  eight  months 
fell  out  of  his  carriage,  the  carriage  falling  on  him,  bruising  and 
cutting  his  left  cheek.  He  had  awakened  and  climbed  down  to 
the  foot  of  his  carriage  and  out  before  Adella,  sitting  by,  was 
aware  of  his  being  awake.  Soon  after  this  I  bought  a  strap 
for  him  that  fastened  around  his  waist  and  then  to  the  sides  of  the 
carriage,  allowing  him  to  stand  up  in  it  without  its  being  possible 
for  him  to  fall  out.  From  that  time  on  he  usually  rode  in  his 
carriage  standing  upright  until  early  in  his  second  year,  when  he 
discarded  it  altogether. 

I  find  the  following  notes  on  my  daily  life  written  in  October 
when  Breck  was  nine  months  old,  and  just  before  I  began  the 
gradual  weaning  of  him :    "My  family  have  all  gone  and  I  have 


n  § 
S 


BRECKIE  II 

settled  into  a  fairly  useful  routine  which  centers  chiefly  around 
my  boy.  His  schedule  is  planned  first  and  I  tuck  in  the  odds 
and  ends  of  the  rest  of  my  life  about  that.  When  I  go  out  to 
him  after  my  breakfast,  while  Adella  takes  hers,  I  generally 
carry  with  me  a  book.  Lately  it  has  been  one  of  the  English  re- 
views, yesterday  and  for  some  days  before  the  Nineteenth 
Century.  Its  every  war  note  is  an  inspiration  in  the  September 
issue.  Babekins  is  taking  his  first  daily  nap  as  I  read.  Sud- 
denly he  wakes,  sits  bolt  upright  in  his  carriage  and  laughs  at 
me,  his  sunburnt  little  face  peering  over  the  side.  Then  we 
go  in  and  he  has  his  strained  orange  juice,  his  bath,  and  then 
his  nine  thirty  nursing.  He  is  such  an  early  bird  that  he  has 
risen  and  nursed  before  six  and  gone  outdoors  at  six  thirty. 
Next  on  four  mornings  a  week,  while  Adella  washes  and  irons 
his  clothes  in  the  laundry,  he  and  I  go  out  in  the  grounds  again 
with  my  old  brown  traveling  rug,  many  times  washed,  where 
he  plays  with  acorns  and  sticks  and  stones  and  mother  watches 
lest  some  find  their  way  into  his  mouth.  In  between  watchings 
and  calls  of  Here,  here.  Tidy,  which  he  now  says  quite  well 
himself,  I  read  over  something  for  my  lectures  on  hygiene  or 
I  sew.  When  he  has  his  second  nap  I  give  more  attention  to  the 
study  or  the  sewing.  In  the  afternoons  Adella  has  him  after  his 
one  thirty  nursing  and  I  take  a  nap  and  then  get  out  for  a  walk. 
Five  thirty  is  baby's  nursing  time  again,  and  after  that  to  bed  on 
his  balcony,  where  he  is  now  sleeping — my  own  lamb." 

One  morning  I  woke  to  find  it  raining  and,  running  out  to 
Breck's  balcony,  discovered  him  sitting  up  in  his  crib  with  the 
rain  falling  gently  on  him,  while  he  tried  to  catch  its  drops  in  his 
hands. 

One  afternoon  this  same  autumn,  when  his  father  and  I  with 
him  and  Tidy  were  all  driving  together  he  seized  the  reins  and 
shook  them,  making  sounds  to  the  horses.  Whereupon  Tidy 
began  to  bark  and  seized  them  too,  so  that  it  looked  for  awhile 
as  if  the  dog  and  the  baby  were  to  do  all  the  driving.  Dick 
straightened  out  the  tangle,  saying  meanwhile  to  his  son :  "Boy, 
there  isn't  anything  about  you  I  would  change  if  I  could." 


12  BRECKIE 


On  the  third  of  December  we  lost  our  little  dog  Tidy,  poisoned 
by  strychnine,  and  I  wrote  the  following  brief  tribute  to  the 
memory  of  one  of  my  baby's  earliest  friends: 

"In  connection  with  the  death  of  our  little  fox  terrier,  'Tidy,* 
I  want  to  write  a  few  words — ^but  they  are  not  intended  for  those 
who  already  know  and  love  dogs  (and  the  man  who  knows  dogs 
and  does  not  love  them  is  too  bad  to  be  reached  by  words),  but 
rather  for  those  who  have  grown  up  and  are  living  in  ignorance 
of  dogs.  I  should  like  to  open  some  hearts  towards  these  loyal, 
kindly  creatures  by  telling  briefly  a  few  things  about  Tidy. 

"This  little  animal  was  a  member  of  our  household,  welcomed 
and  fondly  greeted  by  every  teacher  and  student,  to  many  of 
whom  she  paid  frequent  visits  of  social  affability.  In  addition 
she  was  a  member,  on  intimate  terms,  of  our  family  circle  and 
showed  in  a  thousand  endearing  ways  her  affection  for  us. 
During  the  long  months  before  my  baby  came,  she  seldom  left 
my  side,  taking  all  my  walks  with  me,  and  curbing  her  own  de- 
sires (when  I  could  not  walk)  to  curl  her  active  little  body  down 
near  mine.  Other  friends  had  often  to  go  about  their  several 
ways,  but  Tidy's  ways  were  always  mine.  There  was  never 
an  hour's  slackening  of  her  constant  devotion. 

"After  our  baby  had  come,  she  extended  her  affection  for  her 
family  to  include  her  family's  baby,  not  a  touch  of  jealousy  or 
envy  marring  its  single-minded  purity.  When  the  baby  grew  old 
enough  to  creep  on  the  floor.  Tidy  was  always  his  playfellow, 
tumbling  about  with  him,  but  so  gently,  and  suffering  excruciat- 
ing liberties  to  be  taken  with  her  eyes  and  ears.  Her  only 
retort  would  be  to  kiss  over  and  over  his  barbarous  little  hands. 
His  fondness  for  Tidy  was  the  strongest  moral  force  we  could 
bring  to  bear  in  rearing  him,  for  he  tried  to  imitate  her  and 
learned  nothing  but  good  in  doing  so.  Observing  that  Tidy  was 
obedient  and  desisted  from  whatever  she  did  when  one  of  us 
said  'no,'  the  baby  would  also  desist.  Even  when  traveling  on 
all  fours  towards  the  coveted  coal  scuttle,  he  would  stop  promptly 


BRECKIE  13 

when  we  spoke  (as  he  had  seen  Tidy  do),  shake  his  head  solemnly 
'no,  no* — and  wave  bye-bye  to  the  coal  scuttle.  He  likes  to  be 
called  Tidy.  We  had  hoped,  as  Tidy  was  young,  for  her  help 
in  training  him  for  years  to  come.  But  the  ready  little  paws 
have  stiifened  and  the  friendly  eyes  have  closed  in  a  sudden  and 
violent  death. 

"The  noblest  minds  of  all  ages  have  loved  dogs,  and  the  pages 
of  those  who  wrote  (Scott,  Dickens,  George  Eliot,  Mrs.  Ewing 
— innumerable  others  and  among  the  modems  Maeterlinck,  Bar- 
rie  and  many  more)  are  written  large  with  the  praises  of  them. 
But  no  love  that  we  could  bear  him  has  ever  equaled  the  love 
of  the  dog  for  us.  From  drowning,  from  death  in  banking  snow- 
drifts, from  desolation,  from  distress,  in  all  the  ways  that  he 
could  compass  the  dog  has  aided  man,  has  followed  him  living 
and  guarded  his  corpse  when  dead — ^yes,  and  died  of  grief  for 
him  afterwards.  The  dog  was  never  unfaithful  to  a  love  or  trust. 
Such  devotion  as  is  his,  such  unconscious  heroism,  such  fidelity, 
such  gentleness  to  the  weak  and  ferocity  to  the  wicked,  such 
utter  forgetfulness  of  self,  are  elsewhere  so  rare  that  when  we 
find  them  united  in  a  man  we  call  him  godlike. 

"And  in  return  for  the  noblest  attributes  of  the  spirit,  what 
material  claims  does  the  dog  ask  of  life  ?  Only  *the  crumbs  that 
fall  from  the  master's  table.'  When  we  had  folded  up  the  blanket 
she  slept  on,  put  away  her  collar  and  brush,  and  emptied  her 
bowl  of  drinking  water,  we  had  disposed  of  Tidy's  worldly  pos- 
sessions. 

"But  we  believe  in  the  spirit  of  the  ancients  that  she  has 
gone  to  Sirius,  the  dog-star,  *the  bright  and  happy  star  that  gives 
good  dwelling.' " 


On  December  sixth,  when  he  lacked  a  month  and  four  days 
of  being  one  year  old,  Breckinridge  took  his  first  two .  or 
three  steps  in  the  rotunda  of  Crescent  College.  On  several  pre- 
vious occasions  he  had  stood  alone,  but  quite  suddenly  he  de- 
cided on  this  particular  day  to  cut  loose  from  all  his  moorings 


14  BRECKIE 

and  put  out  to  sea  by  himself.  It  was  some  weeks  later  before  he 
walked  habitually  in  preference  to  creeping. 

Before  the  Christmas  holidays  had  begun  Breckinridge  and  I 
went  down  to  Fort  Smith  for  a  visit,  and  great  was  the  amuse- 
ment of  every  one  over  the  luggage  with  which  we  traveled. 
Besides  the  trunks  (one  of  which  held  the  indispensable  pas- 
teurizer), and  baby  carriage,  which  were  checked,  there  was  my 
handbag,  Breck*s  lightweight  suit  case,  a  Walker-Gordon  zinc 
lined  traveling  milk  container  filled  with  Breck's  tubes  of  milk, 
boiled  water  and  orange  juice,  all  packed  in  ice,  his  folding 
bath  tub  and  his  clothes  rack.  My  mother  brought  her  house 
man,  Alice's  son  Walter,  to  meet  the  train  and  assume  the  bulk 
of  our  supplies. 

We  stayed  in  Fort  Smith  until  after  Breck's  first  birthday  and 
saw  again  several  times  his  dear  nurse  Aunt  Alice,  who  marveled 
over  his  growth  and  bonny  face.  I  had  to  carry  him  to  her  cot- 
tage, for  she  was  dying  and  could  not  come  to  us.  We  got  news 
of  her  every  day  through  her  son.  She  told  me  that  since  she 
could  not  come  back  to  me  again  she  was  sending  me  her  friend 
"Mammy  Jennie"  to  be  Breck's  nurse  and  take  her  place  with 
him.  Mammy  was  a  dark  negress,  delightfully  old-fashioned  and 
simple-hearted  and,  barring  rheumatism  in  her  feet,  a  perfect 
nurse  for  a  little  baby.  She  was  willing,  experienced,  and  faith- 
ful in  overwhelming  measure.  Breck  and  I  both  became  devoted 
to  her.  She  had  a  way,  if  I  kept  him  longer  in  the  family  circle 
than  she  approved,  of  coming  after  him,  saying  as  she  came: 
"Dis  chile's  tired  of  white  folks.  Come  back  to  Mammy." 
Months  later,  when  he  could  talk  fairly  well,  he  used  to  echo  this 
complaint:  *'Mammy,  baby's  tired  of  white  folks."  She  never 
got  over  his  size  and  splendid  appearance,  saying  often:  "Miss 
Mary,  dis  is  de  biggest  baby  I  ever  see." 

My  mother's  dressing  room  was  Breckie's  nursery  in  Fort 
Smith,  but  he  slept  out  on  the  sleeping  porch  by  day  and,  by 
night,  next  my  bed,  in  a  little  old  crib  which  had  been  mine,  while 
Mammy  occupied  an  adjoining  room.  The  doctor  who  had 
brought  him  into  the  world  and  who  was  immensely  proud  of  him 
vaccinated  him  while  we  were  there.    It  "took"  well,  changing 


BRECKIE  15 

him  for  a  few  days  from  the  cheerful,  good-natured  child  he  was 
habitually  into  a  feverish,  fretful  one. 

But  he  recovered  soon  and  learned  to  dance.  That  is  he 
danced  up  and  down  with  quite  evident  delight  whenever  his 
grandmother  or  aunt  hummed  "Sho-fly"  or  "Turkey  in  de  straw/' 


I 


SECOND  YEAR 

He  has  seen  the  starry  hours 
And  the  springing  of   the  flowers; 
And  the  fairy  things  that  pass 
In  the  forests  of  the  grass. 

— Stevenson. 


I 


ON  January  twelfth  we  celebrated  Breckie's  first  birthday  in 
the  house  where  he  was  bom.  Instead  of  having  a  cake, 
which  he  couldn't  even  have  tasted,  we  stuck  one  candle  on  an 
orange  of  which  later  he  had  the  juice.  We  also  ransacked  the 
attic  for  such  of  the  old  toys,  some  of  them  over  thirty  years 
old,  as  might  charm  him.  A  little  red  bucket  which  had  been 
given  my  brother  Clifton  nearly  twenty  years  before  in  Finland 
was  brought  out  and  presented  to  Breck  on  this  occasion.  It 
stands  now  on  the  mantel  in  my  bedroom  where  some  one  placed 
it  when  it  was  last  carried  in  by  his  eager  little  hands. 

I  did  not  take  Mammy  back  with  me  from  Fort  Smith  but  she 
followed  me  about  a  month  later.  I  then  resumed  the  long  af- 
ternoon tramps  in  the  woods  which  I  loved  and  without  which 
my  health  suffered,  quite  safe  about  the  baby  when  I  left  him  with 
this  devoted  woman. 

There  was  a  young  married  woman  in  the  faculty  at  Crescent 
this  winter  who  fairly  radiated  a  loving  comprehension  of  lit- 
tle children.  She  delighted  in  watching  Breck  playing  about, 
intervening  between  him  and  his  chosen  tasks  only  when  neces- 
sary to  keep  him  from  harm.  She  enjoyed  especially  his  per- 
petual imitations  at  this  period  of  sounds.  When  the  elevator 
stopped  with  a  groan  he  mimicked  it  and  if  a  piece  of  furniture 
squeaked  he  at  once  squeaked  as  nearly  as  he  could.  He  crowed 
when  he  saw  birds  and  chickens.  One  day,  upon  first  observing 
a  print  my  mother  had  brought  me,  a  copy  of  that  Norwegian 
painting  of  the  Resurrection  which  hangs  above  the  altar  in  the 
village  church  of  Molde,  he  seemed  struck  by  the  wings  of  the 
angel,  looked  at  me  and  crowed. 

During  this  winter  of  191 5  my  cousin  Frances  came  on  a 
visit  to  us  and  wrote  about  Breck  as  follows  to  her  mother 
in  Kentucky:    "Mary  is  so  happy  in  her  mammoth  child.     He 

19 


20  BRECKIE 

is  a  regular  mastodon — one  year  of  age  and  two  year  old  clothes 
too  small  for  him.  He  is  good  as  gold,  wonderfully  well  and 
healthy  and  beautifully  cared  for.  Mary  is  mad  over  him,  also 
his  father  and  others  seem  somewhat  idolatrous.  He  is  not  cling- 
ing or  appealing  like  other  children,  but  gorgeous  and  inde- 
pendent ;  never  lays  his  head  on  any  one's  shoulder,  has  no  caress- 
ing ways,  but  is  cheerful  and  pleasant  and  grows  on  one's  af- 
fections. I  am  getting  a  bit  foolish  on  the  subject.  He  is  a  very 
impersonal  child  and  joyous." 

Nearly  three  years  later  this  cousin,  who  never  saw  him  again, 
wrote  me:  "I  shall  never  think  of  him  without  an  impression 
of  Bigness  and  Brightness.'* 

Soon  after  this  old  Alice  died.  February  twenty- fourth  I  wrote 
in  my  journal :  ''I  have  left  what  Frances  calls  my  'mastodon'  out 
on  the  East  Terrace,  where  I  was  keeping  him  while  Mammy  ate 
her  dinner, — he  playing  with  the  gravel  on  the  paths  and  I 
watching  the  buds  on  the  maple  and  the  green  leaves  of  the 
early  tulips.  And  as  I  watched  my  eyes  were  brimming  with 
tears  for  the  two  quaint  figures  that  shared  that  terrace  with  me 
last  spring  while  baby,  a  wee  baby,  slept  in  his  carriage.  Of  those 
two  figures,  one  a  dog  and  one  an  elderly  negress,  the  one  is 
now  dead,  the  other  dying, — and  I  had  thought  a  second  spring 
would  find  us  grouped  as  before.  But  that  kind  old  face  of  Aunt 
Alice's,  her  head  bound  in  red  flannel,  will  never  bend  again  in 
loving  care  above  my  child — and  the  dear  little,  bounding,  pul- 
sating body  of  dog  Tidy  will  not  spring  forward  now  at 
my  call.    How  peopled  the  world  is  with  those  that  were !" 

On  March  second  when  Breckie  was  nearly  fourteen  months 
old  I  wrote :  "Baby  weighs  twenty-five  pounds  and  twelve  ounces, 
and  has  just  cut  his  tenth  tooth,  his  second  jaw  tooth.  He  has 
recently  evinced  constructive  tendencies,  which  please  me,  piling 
up  his  blocks  instead  of  only  striking  them  down  after  Mammy 
has  piled  them.  He  can  pile  up  as  many  as  four.  He  also 
tries  to  put  on  his  own  cap  and  sometimes  succeeds.  When  he 
gets  in  my  bed  in  the  morning  he  pulls  my  handkerchief  from 
under  my  pillow  and  goes  through  the  motions  of  blowing  his 
nose  with  it.    He  kisses  himself  in  the  mirror.    His  favorite  toy 


I 


BRECKIE  21 

just  now  seems  to  be  a  wooden  duck  Caroline  Gardner  gave 
him,  which  he  calls  *Guck,'  but  he  loves  sticks  and  leaves  and 
stones  and  his  blocks.  He  points  to  the  radiator  and  what  he 
calls  the  *pire'  and  says  'hot/  He  is  passionately  fond  of  the 
buttons  on  clothes,  calling  them  'baaton.'  He  is  delectable,  en- 
trancing, trotting  about  on  his  sturdy  legs,  his  pleasant  red- 
cheeked  face  usually  radiant  with  sunshine  and  good  nature." 

He  was  fond  of  turning  up  all  the  handles  to  the  drawers 
in  his  father's  Adam  desk  and  of  hanging  my  typewriter  brush 
to  a  screw.  Frequently  when  I  couldn't  find  it  in  the  drawer 
of  my  typewriter  table  I  located  it  in  the  next  room  hanging 
from  this  screw. 

Mammy  had  a  way  of  exclaiming,  when  Breck  cried,  "Oh, 
he's  throwing  a  fit!"  This  soon  caught  and  fascinated  his  at- 
tention so  that  whenever  she  exclaimed  his  tears  ceased.  Later 
he  began  simulating  the  fit  without  a  preliminary  of  grief, 
doubling  his  fists  and  shaking  them  while  his  face  screwed  up 
comically.  He  never  emerged  from  this  performance  without 
the  proud  and  confident  look  of  one  who  has  achieved. 


In  this  spring  of  191 5  my  parents  broke  up  their  home  in 
Fort  Smith  and  first  my  mother,  later  my  father,  came  to  stay 
at  Crescent  College.  My  sister  came  also  for  the  spring  and 
early  summer,  and  great  was  the  delight  of  all  in  Breckinridge 
and  his  satisfaction  in  them. 

At  about  this  time  Dick  bought  a  collie  puppy  for  Breckie, 
black  with  white  and  tan  markings  like  an  idolized  Shep  of  six 
years  of  my  childhood.  We  called  him  Jock  of  Hazeldean  and 
he  and  Breck  were  inseparable.  He  slept  on  the  floor  under 
Breck's  balcony  crib  and  hardly  strayed  ten  feet  from  his  side 
when  they  played  out  in  the  woods  together. 

As  the  quiet  weeks  of  June,  linking  Crescent  College  with 
Crescent  Hotel,  weeks  of  dear  domestic  life  to  us,  were  passing 
all  too  quickly  I  wrote  thus  in  my  journal:  "Our  baby  is  the 
joy  of  our  lives.  I  wish  I  could  so  visualize  his  sturdy 
little  body  and   strong,   cheerful   face   as  to  keep  each  stage 


22  BRECKIE 

of  him  before  it  passes!  Most  blessed  baby,  seventeen  months 
yesterday,  with  radiantly  happy  face,  frequent  laughter,  eager 
little  hands — he  trots  about  everywhere,  trying  to  say  almost 
anything.  Jock  is  'Gokkie,'  my  mother  'Hoho,'  Lees  *Sheshoe,* 
and  I  am  *Bop/  I  held  out  for  mother  and  Bop  is  his  render- 
ing of  it.  In  the  last  two  months  he  has  gotten  demonstrative 
and  tender — often  putting  his  arms  about  the  knees  of  his  loved 
ones  (or  their  necks  if  he  is  high  enough)  and  hugging  and  kiss- 
ing them.  This  applies  to  all  of  us :  'Daddy,  Bop,  Gokkie,  Hoho, 
Mammy.'  If  he  thinks  he  has  offended  he  rushes  to  do  it.  He 
is  fond  of  saying  'How-do'  to  us  and  of  bowing  and  shaking 
hands.  It  is  an  inspiring  sight  to  see  him  and  Jock  solemnly 
shaking  hands  with  each  other.  Now  he  begins  to  put  two 
or  three  words  together,  as  'Come  along,  Gokkie,'  'All  gone.' 

"But  I  hear  him  waking  and  Mammy  is  at  church.  He  went 
to  sleep  late  for  his  afternoon  nap  and  has  slept  later.  O,  what 
do  summer  hotels  matter  when  one  has  one's  best  beloved  close 
at  hand,  and  when  one's  child  is  a  radiant  manifestation  of  God! 
While  over  in  Europe  the  sod  was  drenched  this  spring  in  blood — 
O,  the  poor  souls, — and  the  bodies  of  other  children  wash  up 
on  the  Irish  coast  from  the  sunken  Lusitania. 

"Now  I  will  go  to  Breckinridge  and  he  will  stand  up  in  his 
crib  on  the  balcony  and  say :  'How-do,  Bop.'  " 

Jock  did  not  remain  long  with  us.  We  never  knew  the  cause 
of  his  death  as  there  was  no  veterinary  to  attend  him,  nor 
whether  he  had  been  poisoned  or  not.  But  he  had  two  hard 
fits,  in  the  second  of  which  he  died  despite  all  Dick  and  I  could 
do  in  his  behalf.  Of  all  the  dogs  I  have  owned  and  loved  he  was 
unquestionably  the  gentlest  and  the  baby's  grief  for  him,  though 
limited,  was  real.  For  some  time  afterwards  he  seldom  went  out 
walking  or  to  the  balcony  for  his  naps  without  calling :  "Gokkie, 
Gokkie,"  and  looking  with  anticipatory  eyes  for  the  little  black 
playmate  whose  devotion  for  several  months  had  shadowed  him. 

3 
In  the  summer  of  191 5  my  mother  had  to  go  to  New  York 
for  a  few  weeks  and  during  her  absence  the  baby's  godmother,  the 


! 


BRECKIE  23 

"Pansy'*  of  my  deep  affection,  came  up  to  spend  two  weeks  with 
us.  Dick  and  I  had  asked  her  to  be  his  godmother  and  Allen 
Kennedy  of  Fort  Smith  his  godfather,  and  beautifully  both  filled 
that  relationship  which  was  in  essence  a  bond  though  not  in  fact, 
for  Breckinridge  was  never  christened. 

Breckie  loved  his  godmother  and  when  told,  at  the  end  of 
the  visit,  that  she  had  to  go  he  said:  "Don't  go,  Go'm'r."  He 
never  saw  her  again  but  knew  her  well  in  her  pictures.  She  only 
stayed  ten  days  and  as  Mammy  was  called  home  at  this  time  by 
the  illness  of  a  daughter  we  spent  most  of  the  visit  dashing  in 
Breckie's  wake  and  saving  his  life  a  dozen  times  an  hour.  The 
monotony  of  daily  routine  was  further  broken  by  the  need  for 
toning  up  the  physical  well  being  of  the  new  puppy,  helping  the 
kitty  through  a  series  of  fits,  and  by  the  finding  of  two  scorpions 
in  my  bath  tub  and  a  large  snake,  said  by  the  men  on  the  place 
to  be  a  copperhead,  just  outside  Dick's  bedroom  door. 

I  find  by  referring  to  my  journal  that  Breckinridge  at  twenty 
months  weighed  naked  twenty-eight  pounds,  seven  ounces,  and 
was  thirty-three  and  three-fourths  inches  tall,  hardy  as  a  wild 
thing,  walking  two  miles  at  a  stretch,  climbing  the  mountain 
up  the  Board  Walk  from  Spring  Street,  never  still  except  when 
sleeping,  unbounded  in  his  energy  and  his  interests.  I  noted 
at  this  period  that  his  moral  nature  was  visibly  awakening  and 
that  he  could  easily  put  several  words  together,  such  as:  "Bop, 
gie  baby  baf."  Nothing  pleased  him  more  that  summer  than  to 
splash  around  in  my  big  tub  a  half  hour  at  a  time  and  have 
the  cold  shower  turned  on  him  while  he  sat  in  the  warm  water. 
While  I  dried  him  on  my  lap  he  would  beg  for  a  hair  pin.  "Hair 
pie,"  he  called  it.  Then  he  begged  for  another.  Once  I  said: 
"You  want  two  hair  pins,"  and  after  that  whenever  one  had  been 
given  him  he  smiled  at  me  and  said:  "Two  hair  pies."  He 
stuck  one  between  the  big  and  middle  toe  on  each  foot. 

He  liked  to  ride  in  his  father's  car,  which  he  called :  "Daddy's 
autote."  Sometimes  I  rambled  alone  through  the  woods  and  had 
Dick  and  Breck  and  Mammy  all  meet  me  at  an  agreed  rendez- 
vous on  a  country  road.  I  vividly  recall  the  pleased,  but  never 
surprised,  expression  on  the  baby's  face  whenever  he  first  saw 


24  BRECKIE 

me  coming  towards  the  car.  Comfortably  seated  on  Mammy's 
broad  lap  he  greeted  me  generally  with  "Howdy-do,  Bop." 

He  grew  very  fond  of  balls  at  this  period  and  usually  went 
to  bed  with  two  large  ones  and  took  a  tennis  ball  out  walking, 
while  to  break  into  the  bowling  alley  and  throw  around  the 
smaller  balls  there  was  a  keen  delight. 

At  twenty  months  he  was  rhapsodizing  over  the  moon,  which 
he  had  only  discovered  three  moons  before.  He  called  it 
"blessed  moon"  and  it  and  the  stars  were  friends  ever  after  upon 
whose  companionship  he  counted  when  he  slept  outdoors  alone, 
which  he  did  after  the  first  summer. 

A  flock  of  pigeons  had  a  way  of  descending  on  the  campus 
lawn  to  feed  and  Breckie  did  love  to  chase  them  and  stand  in 
wonder  as  they  rose,  calling  out  like  Mammy:  "Pidgy,  pidgy, 
pidgy."     From  this  came  one  of  the  names  I  had  for  him. 

Dogs  held  a  high  place  in  his  affections  and  he  always  wanted 
to  run  up  and  hug  strange  ones.  He  called  them  "boo-woos" 
and  "goggies."  There  were  usually  several  on  the  place,  be- 
longing to  the  men,  or  strays  that  had  taken  up  with  us  through 
our  being  kind  to  them.  The  houseman,  George,  had  a  hunting 
dog  named  "Lead"  and  a  shaggy,  black,  guard  dog  named  "Jodie." 
A  yellow  dog  we  called  "Sandy"  took  refuge  with  us  when 
hurt  by  an  automobile  and  George  called  him,  with  unconscious 
humor,  "an  old-fashioned  cur  dog."  But  when  he  had  recovered 
from  his  hurt  Sandy  went  away.  Still  another  dog,  a  hound 
whom  the  men  dubbed  "Queen,"  came  to  us  and  had  fourteen 
puppies  at  one  swoop,  ten  of  them  girls,  in  the  barn.  She  only 
required  our  hospitality  for  a  little  while,  leaving  us  later. 
Breckie  loved  all  of  these — but  we  wanted  him  to  have  a  special 
dog  of  his  own  and  made  one  more  attempt  to  keep  one.  This 
third  little  companion  was  of  all  the  dogs  we  had  the  hardiest,  most 
roguish,  most  like  Breck  himself — a  bull  terrier,  we  called  him 
"Camp"  after  a  dog  of  that  breed  beloved  of  Walter  Scott. 
Breckie  adored  him.  "Baby  kissee  Camp,"  he  would  say,  and 
hard  it  was  to  prevent  each  from  kissing  the  other.  If  either 
were  reproved  and  in  disgrace  the  other  sought  to  intercede, 
Breck  crying  out  in  real  distress  when  Camp  had  to  be  house- 


I 


BRECKIE 
Age  Twenty  Months,  with  Mammy  and  Camp 


I 


BRECKIE  25 

broken  and  Camp  creeping  up  to  me  uneasily  and  apologetically 
whenever  I  spoke  firmly  to  Breck  over  putting  things  in  his 
mouth. 

October  of  191 5  was  a  glorious  month  and  "baby  dear,"  as  he 
then  called  himself,  Mammy,  Camp,  and  I  spent  the  most  of  its 
afternoons  together  out  on  the  campus,  tumbling  about  in  a 
crimson  and  yellow  shower  of  maple  leaves.  I  find  some  of  these 
leaves  in  between  the  pages  of  my  journal,  leaves  Breckie  brought 
me  then  with :  "Ta  ta  eaves,  Boppie  dear."  Then  off  he  would 
run.  Camp  bounding  at  his  heels,  to  roll  over  and  over  in  the 
wonderful  heaps.  Sometimes  we  picked  greens  together,  Mammy 
and  Dorothy  helping,  with  Lead  and  Jodie  looking  on  and  now 
and  then  Queen  coming  up  to  be  petted  as  though  she  had  done 
a  praiseworthy  act  in  presenting  us  with  fourteen  mongrel  pup- 
pies. Sometimes  we  planted  narcissus  poeticus  bulbs  on  the 
lawn,  Breck  and  Camp  both  clumsily  assisting  by  scattering  the 
dirt  and  sand  and  running  off,  the  one  with  my  trowel  and  the 
other  with  my  dibble.  As  surely  as  I  settled  down  to  steady 
planting  without  them  I  could  count  on  seeing  Mammy's  com- 
fortable figure  and  kind,  dark  face  surmounted  by  a  large  white 
cap  looming  up  the  walk  with  Breck  and  Camp  fairly  springing 
in  ecstasy  before  her,  Breckie  calling  as  he  ran:  "Baby  tumin', 
baby  tumin'." 

Sometimes  we  played  in  the  sand  pile  I  had  built  for  Breckie 
under  two  of  what  he  later  called  "pine  comb  chees."  "Such 
golden  October  afternoons,"  I  wrote  in  my  journal,  "such  a 
happy  baby  and  dog,  such  a  radiant  Bop!" 

For  Camp  they  were  abruptly  put  to  an  end  one  day  through 
his  picking  up  and  eating  strychnine  in  some  form  not  fifteen  feet 
from  Breck  as  they  climbed  the  Board  Walk  with  Mammy.  He 
died  in  ten  minutes  and  Breck,  catching  up  Mammy's  wail,  kept 
repeating  solemnly:  "Campy's  daid." 

It  was  our  last  effort  to  have  a  dog  for  him.  Three  lost  in  one 
year  with  other  dogs  poisoned  all  around  us  made  us  realize 
that  we  could  not  at  that  time  attempt  to  keep  one  in  Eureka 
Springs.  So  Camp  went  after  Jock  and  Tidy  to  the  happy  dog 
star  and  again,  in  his  limited  fashion,  our  baby  mourned  a  friend. 


26  BRECKIE 

It  was  weeks  before  Camp  passed  altogether  from  his  memory, 
before  he  could  see  a  bone  without  exclaiming:  "Bone,  Campy. 
Come  gie  bone.  Campy  dear.''  Many  times  he  said  solemnly: 
"Camp  daid,"  once  in  a  while  adding:  "Come  back.  Campy 
dear." 


Breckie  made  mighty  efforts  this  autumn  of  191 5  to  tell  things, 
his  experience  and  thoughts  about  them  always  exceeding  his 
vocabulary. 

A  few  days  before  Camp  was  poisoned  when  he  and  Mammy 
and  Camp  came  back  from  their  early  walk  he  appeared  fairly 
bursting  with  excitement  and  exclamations.  Mammy  explained 
that  they  had  been  looking  for  the  nanny  goat  that  lived  down 
below  the  Hardin  spring  on  the  eastern  slope  of  the  Crescent 
mountain  and  had  finally  seen  her  through  the  crack  of  a  barn 
door  with  her  head  caught,  and  that  she  had  directed  some  little 
boys  to  let  her  loose. 

But  Baby  meanwhile  was  giving  me  bits  of  these  matters  in  dis- 
jointed sentences :  "Baby  see  Mammy  goat  fwough  er  c'ack." 

"  'Ittle  boys,  'ittle  boys !  *Et  Mammy  goat  'oose,  'ittle  boys !" 

"Mammy  goat  fwough  er  c'ack." 

The  goat  so  bewitched  him  that  autumn  that  he  talked  of  her 
nearly  every  day  and  sometimes  at  night  when  he  woke  I  heard 
him  calling  out :  "  Ittle  boys,  'ittle  boys,  *et  Mammy  goat  'oose, 
'ittle  boys !" 

One  night  when  it  was  raining  I  heard  him  singing  the  re- 
frain of  a  song :  "Oh,  what  a  wet,  wet  day !" 

On  November  third  I  wrote  as  follows  in  my  journal :  "Yes- 
terday at  about  five  in  the  afternoon  Dick  and  I  took  the  baby 
from  Mammy  and  walked  with  him  down  the  western  slope  of 
the  mountain  to  Dairy  Hollow  and  up  by  another  road,  reaching 
home  at  six,  supper,  and  bedtime  with  Mammy  ready  for  both. 
Down  in  the  Hollow  Dick  gave  the  baby  his  first  real  lesson  in 
throwing  rocks  at  objects  and  we  were  enchanted  when  he 
hit  a  bucket  at  five  feet.  I  shouted :  'Hurrah  for  baby,'  and  he 
repeated  it,  looking  pleased.    Indeed  it  was  a  good  throw  for 


BRECKIE  27 

twenty-one  months.  .  .  .  He  lives  out  of  doors,  walking  up  and 
V      down  the  hills,  his  eager  little  feet  never  still  except  in  sleep." 
I         On  November  thirteenth  he  drew  a  mark  for  me  and  said  it 
was  "A.R.K." 

He  was  interested  in  caterpillars  this  autumn  and  I  told  him 
they  would  be  butterflies  when  the  days  got  warm  again.  I 
showed  him  pictures  of  butterflies  and  said  he  should  chase 
them.  This  so  pleased  him  that  he  often  spoke  during  the  fol- 
lowing winter  of  chasing  them,  and  with  the  first  gay  butterflies 
of  the  early  spring  (and  the  butterflies  in  the  Ozarks  are  very 
gay)  he  reveled  in  the  fulfilment  of  my  prophecy. 

The  first  favorites  among  his  picture  books,  and  he  had  be- 
gun to  love  them  in  the  summer,  were  two  English  publications 
called  "Babes  and  Beasts"  (which  he  called  the  Boo-cow-boo 
book)  and  "Babes  and  Birds"  (Gobble-gobble  book,)  with  charm- 
ing illustrations.  Other  favorites  were  an  old  cardboard  "Peep 
at  the  Animal  World"  which  had  been  mine,  and  a  cardboard 
copy  of  the  "Three  Little  Pigs,"  graphically  illustrated,  which 
had  belonged  to  my  sister. 

At  twenty-two  months  B reek's  naked  weight  was  thirty  pounds 
and  his  height  in  his  stocking  feet  thirty-four  and  a  half  inches. 
On  November  nineteenth  I  wrote:  "The  past  two  days  have 
been  a  bit  too  bleak  for  Mammy's  rheumatic  legs,  especially 
towards  night-fall,  and  I  have  had  Breck  out  with  me  on  the 
East  Terrace  from  about  four  o'clock  on  until  his  supper  time. 
We  have  been  working  in  the  flower  beds  together,  I  with  trowel 
and  he  with  a  Httle  'shobel.'  This  tiny  bit  of  sweet  alyssum"  (it 
lies  between  the  pages  of  my  journal  yet)  "he  gave  me  the  first 
afternoon — the  only  flower  left  blooming  by  the  last  frost,  al- 
most as  hardy  as  an  evergreen,  sunny,  clean,  and  sweet, — how 
like  Breck  it  is!  ft  has  been  for  years  one  of  my  favorite 
flowers,  that  I  grow  wherever  I  am  for  a  season.  Eleanor  (here 
the  other  day  for  a  ^asit  which  was  cut  short  in  a  day  by  the 
sort  of  appeal  from  absent  friends  in  trouble  she  never  denies) 
smiled  when  she  saw  my  sweet  alyssum  and  said:  'You  are 
never  without  it.' 

"Breck  is  getting  most  companionable.    He  rarely  stuflFs  things 


28  BRECKIE 

in  his  mouth  now  and  when  he  does  says  quickly:  *Baby  so'y.' 
He  doesn't  try  to  run  away,  but  works  contentedly  along  with  me 
and  the  man  I  sometimes  have  to  help  me.  Together  we  have 
pulled  up  all  the  dead  scarlet  sage  bushes,  cut  off  the  tops  of  the 
cannas,  transplated  several  of  the  perennials,  and  cleared  the 
beds  of  old  marigold  and  zinnia  stalks.  To-day  they  must  be 
spaded,  in  and  out  around  the  peonies,  lilies,  etc.,  and  then  I  shall 
plant  more  bulbs  in  them :    Emperor  narcissus  and  Darwin  tulips. 

"Day  before  yesterday  Dick  told  Breck  to  count  and  said: 
'One!'Br€ck: 'Two.'  Daddy :  Three.'  Breck:  Tour.'  Daddy: 
Tive.'  Breck: 'Six.'  Daddy: 'Seven.'  Breck: 'Eight'  Daddy: 
'Nine.'  Breck:  'Ten.'  This  he  has  picked  up  from  having  his 
toes  counted,  I  suppose,  and  from  counting  buttons,  ribs,  etc. 
The  alternating  counting  is  all  he  can  do  beyond  two  or  three. 
He  can't  grasp  a  long  sequence  unassisted.  He  doesn't  like  his 
ribs  counted  and  says:  'Gogo  (don't)  count  baby's  'ibs.' " 

When  my  mother  got  back  from  New  York  in  the  late  summer 
Breckie  was  delighted.  She  helped  a  good  deal  in  the  care  of  him 
that  autumn  and  he  became  especially  attached  to  her  so  that 
when  she  ran  down  to  Fort  Smith  for  a  brief  visit  in  Novem- 
ber he  seemed  to  miss  her.  She  got  back  one  evening  after  he 
had  gone  to  bed  on  his  balcony  and  when  he  came  in  at  ten  for 
his  bottle  of  milk  and  to  sleep  in  his  indoor  crib  the  balance  of 
the  night,  he  saw  her  with  apparent  delight.  He  went  to  her  in 
tenderest  affection  and  kept  holding  out  his  hands  to  her  be- 
fore being  tucked  in  bed,  saying  over  and  over :  "How-do,  Hoho, 
How-do,  Hoho." 

She  often  wore  a  dress  in  the  evenings  of  which  he  was  fond 
because  it  had  buttons  which  attracted  him.  When  she  came 
in  with  it  on  he  ran  to  her,  climbed  into  her  lap  and  began  to 
count  what  he  called  the  "bupons" — "two,  fwee.  .  .  ." 


My  journal  is  full  of  allusions  to  Breck's  future,  to  some  as  yet 
unknown  work  for  which  I  believed  him  to  be  destined.  I  wrote 
one  day  of  my  own  bit  of  work  as  secretary  for  the  Arkansas 


BRECKIE  29 

committee  of  the  Red  Cross  Nursing  service  and  of  the  cor- 
respondence it  entailed,  and  I  added :  "What  a  little  backwater  of 
a  place  I  am  living  in  now  in  these  terrible  times.  ...  I  devour 
newspapers,  reviews,  books,  anything  that  tells  of  what  is  go- 
ing on  in  this  great  and  awful  war.  One  feels  as  if  one  had 
no  right  to  be  out  of  it,  to  be  planting  bulbs,  .  .  .  while  over 
there,  oh,  over  there.  .  .  .  But  my  thoughts  are  never  half  a  day 
from  this  crisis  and  if  I  am  living  in  a  backwater  now  I  am 
rearing  a  man  child  who  will  emerge  some  day  to  lead  the  crisis  of 
his  age — and  a  backwater  is  a  good  place  for  the  rearing  of  such 
a  man  child."  But  the  destiny  wasn't  to  be  here,  Breckie  darling. 
That's  what  we  didn't  foresee,  you  and  I,  nor  that  it  might  per- 
haps be  as  great  a  destiny  There  as  here. 

Tenderness  and  demonstrations  of  affection  once  having  be- 
gun their  growth  in  Breckinridge  he  ever  grew  more  demonstra- 
tive and  loving  with  each  month  of  his  remaining  years.  At  the 
period  of  which  I  am  writing,  shortly  before  he  was  two  years 
old,  he  sometimes  roused  in  the  night  sufficiently  to  say:  "Bop, 
kiss  your  baby  dear,"  dropping  off  to  sleep  again  when  I  had 
roused  sufficiently  to  do  it.  One  night  about  ten,  soon  after  he 
had  been  carried  gently  from  his  outdoor  to  his  indoor  crib,  he 
sang  out  the  usual :  "Bop,  kiss  your  baby  dear."  Now  I  had 
not  been  long  abed  and  I  had  just  been  kissing  him,  so  I  didn't 
want  to  sit  up  in  the  cold  to  do  it  over.  Therefore  I  said: 
"Bop  is  too  cold.    Baby  go  to  sleep." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  a  thoughtful  voice  rose 
from  out  the  neighboring  crib.  It  said:  "Bop  too  cold  kiss 
baby  dear." 

Whereupon  I  sprang  up,  crying  out:  "No,  she  isn't,"  and 
Dick,  snugly  ensconced  under  the  eiderdown  comfort,  laughed 
aloud. 

On  the  Thanksgiving  day  of  191 5  we  put  Breck  in  a  little  white 
wicker  chair  I  had  just  bought  for  him,  in  front  of  a  little  white 
enameled  table  George  had  just  made,  and  set  before  him  his 
zwieback  and  broth  in  the  silver  porringer  Breck  Campbell  had 
given  him — all  for  the  first  time.     Hitherto  he  had  eaten  on 


30  BRECKIE 

Mammy's    or   his    grandmother's    or   my    lap,   but   he    already 
handled  his  spoon  well  and  spilled  very  little. 

As  our  apartments  were,  though  numerous  and  commodious, 
on  the  second  floor  in  the  southeast  wing  of  a  large  building  and 
very  far  from  the  service  part  of  the  institution,  I  had  arranged 
for  a  sort  of  Milk  Laboratory,  as  we  called  it,  later  Milk  Room, 
for  the  baby,  connected  with  our  suite.  Here  we  had  a  stove  for 
him,  first  electric,  then  alchohol,  then  coal  oil,  on  which  I  pas- 
teurized his  milk  every  day.  In  the  darkest  and  coolest  corner 
stood  his  own  small  refrigerator,  presented  by  his  grandmother, 
with  room  in  the  top  for  twenty  pounds  of  ice,  his  bottles  of 
milk  (one  for  each  of  his  four  daily  meals),  and  pasteurized 
creamery  butter,  and  at  the  bottom  space  for  baked  apples,  jel- 
lied broths,  cereals,  prunes,  eggs, — and  the  other  usual  things 
making  up  the  scientifically  planned  dietary  of  a  very  little  child. 
An  old  marble-topped  bureau  that  had  been  scrubbed  and  sunned 
and  a  table  held  the  requisite  pots,  the  oranges,  measures,  glass 
jars  filled  with  graham  and  other  crackers,  the  clean  bottles,  cups, 
etc.  In  the  paper  lined  top  drawer  of  this  bureau  I  kept  his 
special  dish  cloths,  the  non-absorbent  cotton  for  stoppering  his 
bottles,  bread  knife,  etc.  In  a  bread  box  on  the  table  we  put  his 
special  bread,  wheat  or  rye  or  other  dark  bread,  baked  three 
times  a  week  by  a  friend,  a  native  of  Switzerland.  This  same 
lady  supplied  us  with  fresh  laid  eggs.  At  no  time  did  Breckin- 
ridge ever  have  anything  to  eat  not  scientifically  planned  as  suited 
to  his  age  and  regularly  served  at  correct  intervals.  He  never 
ate  between  meals.  He  never  had  a  piece  of  candy  in  his  life, 
and,  knowing  nothing  of  it,  had  no  desire  for  it.  The  machinery 
of  his  little  body  moved  in  almost  unbroken  harmony  throughout 
his  four  years. 

6 

On  December  sixth  I  had  taken  Breckie  with  me  between  one 
and  two  in  the  afternoon  down  to  the  grocery  known  as  Mc- 
Laughlin's to  g€t  mints  and  lemons  for  one  of  a  series  of  teas  I 
was  giving  the  students.  In  returning  we  took  the  grassy  road 
by  the  beautiful  memorial  Catholic  church  set  in  a  niche  on  the 


BRECKIE  31 

side  of  the  mountain  below  Crescent,  its  red  tiled  roof  gleaming 
above  gray  stone  walls.  Its  rose  window  Breck  called  a  wheel. 
I  decided  we  would  go  in.  It  was  Breck's  first  entry  into  a 
church  and  I  had  him  pull  off  his  knitted  cap  as  we  opened  the 
bronze  doors.  Then  I  showed  him  the  little  Christ  and,  as  we 
left,  he  gurgled  with  delight  over  dropping  a  coin  all  by  himself  in 
the  alms  box. 

A  few  days  later  I  was,  with  Dorothy's  help,  making  ready  for 
another  of  these  teas  when  an  incident  occurred  of  which  I  copy 
the  account  from  my  journal  as  I  wrote  it  then:  "The  tea  table 
was  set  out  in  my  study  in  preparation.  An  exquisite  little  thing 
of  mahogany  it  is  with  embroidered  cover  and  doilies,  big  silver 
tray  and  service,  and,  arranged  on  the  shelf  below,  were  the  cups 
and  saucers.  Upon  these  Breckinridge  seized,  dropping  several 
on  the  floor  and  breaking  one. 

"I  heard  the  clatter  and  ran  in  from  an  adjoining  room,  having 
ventured  to  leave  him  for  a  moment — or  rather  having  ventured 
not  to  follow  immediately  when  he  left  me. 

"  'Baby,'  I  said,  when  I  saw  the  broken  cup,  and  I  said  it  sor- 
rowfully, 'Baby  has  broken  Bop's  poor  cup.  Poor  Boppie.  Poor 
cup !' 

"  'Boppie  fix  it,'  he  replied,  bringing  me  the  pieces. 

"  'Boppie  can't  fix  it,'  said  I,  showing  him  how  they  fell  apart 
when  joined.  'Baby  broke  Boppie's  cup.  Poor  cup.  Poor  Bop- 
pie.   Oh,  Baby,  how  could  you  break  Boppie's  cup !' 

"In  reply  he  burst  out  weeping  and  ran  into  my  arms  crying : 
'Baby  so'y,  Bop.    Baby  so'y  (sorry).' 

"My  lamb,  my  best  loved  treasure,  how  I  gathered  you  in! 
How  we  clung  to  each  other  and  how  quickly  the  ever-ready 
smiles  dispersed  your  tears ! 

"Oh,  God,  was  I  wise  or  cruel?  Was  I  unjust?  There  came 
not  a  note  of  harshness  in  my  voice,  but  was  it  just  to  make  him 
sad?  Of  course  I  know  that  in  breaking  the  cup  he  had  done 
no  shadow  of  wrong,  had  only  been  at  his  legitimate  occupation 
of  investigation.  My  purpose  was  to  teach  him  so  that  another 
time  he  would  recall  the  ownership  of  the  tea  table,  the  fragility 


32  BRECKIE 

of  china,  and  let  them  alone.  Perhaps  he  won't  do  either !  Then 
we  can  try  again,  always  gently,  always  patiently.  How  easy  it  is 
to  be  patient  with  a  creature  dearer  ten  thousand  times  than  all 
one's  possessions !    But  did  I  do  right,  was  I  wise  ?" 

I  had  not,  I  remember,  then  or  at  any  subsequent  time  a  single 
possession  out  in  his  sight  that  Breckinridge  was  not  permitted 
to  touch  provided  he  asked  permission.  I  had  learned  that  an 
object  lacks  form  to  a  young  child  until  he  has  felt  it,  so 
many  were  the  things  I  gave  Breckie  to  feel  and  know.  But 
I  did,  from  the  first,  try  at  the  same  time  to  teach  him  that 
certain  special  things  belonged  to  special  people  and  that  he 
should  ask  before  he  touched  them.  This  was  a  long  and  patient 
lesson,  but  I  ever  kept  the  principle  before  him  and  to  emphasize 
it  we  did  not  encroach  upon  his  rights,  his  own  possessions,  with- 
out first  obtaining  his  permission.  His  godmother  recalls  how  on 
her  visit  in  his  second  year  he  would  point  to  his  books  and  say : 
"Baby's  books,"  and  to  mine  on  another  shelf  and  say :  "Boppie's 
books." 

In  his  third  and  especially  in  his  fourth  year  he  came  to  know 
the  lesson  almost  by  heart  and  asked  to  play  on  my  typewriter 
or  to  look  in  my  desk  drawer  nearly  always  before  doing  either. 
With  the  greatest  sweetness  he  accorded  similar  privileges  with 
his  things :  "You  can  dwink  out  of  my  cup,  Boppie."  "Breckie, 
may  I  use  your  scissors  ?"  "Yes,  sir."  And  if  he  found  any  one 
making  use  of  his  belongings  without  permission  he  nearly  always 
said  reproachfully :    "You  didn't  ask." 

Needless  to  say  in  teaching  him  this  tremendous  lesson  of  the 
rights  of  ownership  we  never  punished  him  for  his  innumerable 
failures.  We  knew  that  the  principle  could  not  be  mastered  with- 
out the  failures  and  it  was  no  part  of  our  plan  to  penalize  his 
immaturity.  Punishments  were  not,  in  fact,  at  any  time  a  part 
of  our  plan  in  rearing  him,  because  we  preferred  the  slower, 
deeper,  juster  way  of  reason  hand  in  hand  with  patience. 

I  have  recorded  that  the  first  question  Breckie  ever  asked  was 
on  December  fifteenth  of  this  year  when  he  lacked  nearly  a  month 
of  being  two  years  old.  He  said  to  one  of  the  men  on  the 
place,  Dorothy's  husband :    "George,  where  are  you  going?" 


BRECKIE  33 


Christmas  of  191 5  we  had  much  sickness,  but  Breckie  kept  his 
usual  perfect  health.  My  father  spent  the  holidays  with  us  and 
had  the  grip,  as  did  my  mother.  Dorothy  had  the  grip  too,  which 
left  me  with  the  housework  of  my  apartments,  and  Mammy  was 
barely  able  to  creep  around  because  of  a  heavy  cold,  so  that  I 
dared  not  have  her  close  to  Breckinridge.  What  with  house- 
work, nursing  and  care  of  baby,  mine  were  busy  holidays,  but 
precious  ones  in  many  years.  My  brother  Carson,  then  a  cap- 
tain in  the  Marine  Corps  and  stationed  at  Washington,  came 
down  for  two  and  a  half  days  and  he  and  Dick  decorated  a  little 
tree  in  my  mother's  room  for  Breckie.  This  was  the  last  time  he 
and  Breckie  were  to  meet,  although  the  thought  of  this  uncle  in 
his  country's  service  was  to  become  one  of  the  guiding  forces  in 
the  nephew's  life. 

Under  the  tree  stood  the  hobby  horse  Dick  and  I  gave  Breck 
from  Santa  Claus.  He  had  been  told  he  would  get  one  and  when 
he  came  into  the  room  he  made  straight  for  the  horse  as  though 
for  a  moment  he  saw  nothing  else.  But  there  were  a  super- 
abundance of  other  things  as  well,  since  many  friends  had  been 
kind.  I  kept  a  list  of  his  presents  on  this  his  second  Christmas, 
thinking  he  might  like  to  read  it  later.  Carson  had  brought  him 
from  Washington  a  small  basket  ball,  a  push  button  electric  light, 
and  four  rubber  animals,  a  bear,  a  goat,  a  horse  (Lady  Light- 
foot),  and  a  dog.  Of  the  latter  one  remains,  the  "Mammy  goat." 
Her  face  has  been  bitten  off,  but  she  continues  to  hold  her  own  in 
the  little  master's  toy  box  among  later  acquisitions.  This  toy 
box  is  a  substantial  one  of  wood,  twenty-four  inches  long,  nine 
and  a  half  inches  high  and  thirteen  inches  broad.  It  belonged  to 
my  father  and  came  many  years  ago  from  Washington  to  Fort 
Smith  packed  with  papers.  Elbowing  the  nanny  goat  in  it  now 
are  other  toys  dating  back  to  this  Christmas,  notably  a  wooden 
horse  called  Kitchener,  sent  Breck  from  England  by  my  friend 

Frances  J in  Sussex, — a  flat  horse,  jointed,  on  which  a  gay 

pink  coated  hunter  once  rode  manfully.  He  and  the  horse  were 
both  made  under  special  circumstances  for  a  war  fund. 


34  BRECKIE 

My  sister  Lees  sent  Breck  a  pair  of  boxing  gloves  and  these 
are  lying  now  in  a  drawer  of  an  old  mahogany  chest  where  he 
kept  his  leggings  and  mittens  and  caps.  His  grandmother  gave 
him  a  coat,  to  help  me  out,  and  for  himself  a  large  nickel  watch, 
all  his  own,  and  never  to  be  returned  to  an  adult  pocket  until  he 
had  heard  enough  "tick,  tick/'  This  watch  lies  in  a  drawer  of 
my  desk,  for  he  lent  it  to  me  two  years  afterwards,  but  only 
the  minute  hand  is  left  intact,  the  crystal  has  long  been  broken, 
and  the  face  is  smeared  from  dirty  little  hands.  In  addition  the 
mainspring  must  be  broken  for  the  watch  has  stopped. 

From  my  cousin  Anne  came  a  pistol  with  holster  and  belt. 
For  this  he  was  then  too  young  but  it  was  later  to  become 
one  of  his  dearest  possessions  and  one  of  the  last  to  be  played 
with.  In  fact  it  is  lying  now  just  where  he  left  it  on  a  book-shelf 
in  my  study. 

His  godmother  sent  the  exquisite  Jessie  Wilcox  Smith  edition  of 
the  "Child's  Garden  of  Verse,"  but  of  his  books  I  will  write  later 
for  in  his  fourth  year  they  took  a  firm  hold  on  his  affections. 
From  his  godfather  came  a  silver  knife,  fork,  and  spoon  which 
he  used  constantly.  Then  from  many  other  friends  there  were 
blocks,  books,  a  top,  a  rubber  hammer  which  couldn't  injure 
chairs  be  they  never  so  banged  upon,  a  little  red  coal  scuttle  from 
Dorothy  that  he  left  at  "The  Brackens"  in  Canada  the  following 
autumn,  a  sheepskin  rug  from  old  friends  in  North  Carolina  on 
which  he  slept  outdoors  in  bitter  weather,  and  two  character 
dolls.  One  of  them  Mammy  named  "Jess"  after  her  first  hus- 
band. The  other,  "Tommy  Tucker,"  minus  both  legs,  lies  on 
his  back  at  this  moment  in  the  toy  box  in  the  company  of 
Kitchener  and  the  nanny  goat. 

Altogether  Breckie  received  so  many  things  this  Christmas  as 
almost  to  suggest  the  presents  which  poured  in  at  the  time 
of  his  birth,  only  those  came  from  all  parts  of  the  globe,  includ- 
ing, besides  all  the  American  things,  a  satin  pillow  from  England, 
an  embroidered  cap  from  Italy,  and  a  crepe-de-chine  coverlet 
from  Japan. 

Mammy  named  the  hobby  horse  "Stacey"  in  memory  of  a 
defunct  steed  of  that  name  which  had  belonged  to  her.    Breckie 


I 


BRECKIE  35 

seldom  used  the  reins  in  riding,  but  held  on  by  the  neck  or  mane. 
Stacey,  a  large,  well-built  horse,  is  still  intact  except  for  dents 
in  the  nose  from  a  real  hammer,  but  I  find  on  examination  that 
little  hands  quite  lately  had  broken  the  reins  and  tied  them  to 
one  forefoot,  while  a  blue  ribbon  is  tied  about  the  left  stirrup. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  old  year  of  191 5,  so  I  read  in  my 
record,  Breck  and  I  took  a  walk  together  of  two  or  three  miles 
in  the  rain  and  he  learned  the  difference  between  hog  and  barbed 
wire  fences.  He  knew  the  names  of  mullen  plants  and  buck- 
bushes,  so  I  read,  shaking  hands  with  one  mullen  leaf  as  if  with 
an  old  friend,  and  we  hunted  for  crows.  A  rather  remarkable 
incident  occurred  that  afternoon  which  I  carefully  noted  in  my 
journal  the  next  day.  While  we  trudged  along  under  one  um- 
brella the  sun  shot  out  suddenly  through  the  rain. 

*'See  the  glorious  sun,"  said  I.  There  was  a  short  silence  while 
Breck  observed  the  to  him  hitherto  unknown  phenomenon  of 
simultaneous  sunshine  and  rain.    Then  he  said: 

"G'owious  sun  take  a  baf  (bath)." 


THIRD  YEAR 

In  a  wonderland  they  lie, 
Dreaming  as  the  days  go  by. 
Dreaming  as  the  summers  die: 

Ever  drifting  down  the  stream- 
Lingering  in  the  golden  gleam — 
Life,  what  is  it  but  a  dream? 

—Lewis  Carroll. 


ON  the  twelfth  of  January,  1916,  came  Breckinridge's  second 
birthday.  I  had  been  reading  a  number  of  authoritative 
books  during  the  past  year  on  both  physical  and  mental  develop- 
ment of  children  and  I  find,  dated  January  eighteenth,  the  follow- 
ing notes  in  my  journal:  "His  weight,  naked,  and  height,  in  his 
stocking  feet,  are  on  his  birthday  almost  exactly  what  they  were 
at  twenty-three  months,  viz.:  weight  thirty-one  pounds,  height 
thirty-five  and  a  fourth  inches.  I  ascribe  the  lack  of  his  usual 
growth  during  the  past  month  to  his  cutting  two  more  big  jaw 
teeth  and  necessary  dieting.  He  now  has  eighteen  teeth  and 
his  weight  at  two  years  is  just  one  pound  less  than  Holt  gives 
as  the  average  weight  for  boys  at  three  years,  and  his  height 
is  one-fourth  of  an  inch  more  than  the  average  at  three  years. 
The  circumference  of  his  head,  if  I  measure  correctly,  and  I 
think  I  do,  is  normal  for  two  years,  viz :  nineteen  inches.  The 
circumference  of  his  chest  is  three  inches  over  normal,  viz: 
twenty-two  inches. — A  good  start,  my  man.  How  I  trust  that 
I  can  so  rear  you  that  your  possible  attainments  will  never  be 
handicapped  by  a  physique  in  the  smallest  particular  defective. 

*Tt  isn't  enough  to  love  one's  child  profoundly.  One  must 
put  one's  brains  at  his  service  in  advance  of  his  demands.  As  to 
the  outcome — I  never  doubt  it  for  a  moment.  There  is  the 
stuff  of  a  great  man  in  Breckinridge." 

After  all,  Breckie  fell  heir  this  winter  to  another  dog,  a  female 
fox  terrier  puppy,  with  a  black  patch  over  one  eye  from  which 
she  drew  her  name.  She  was  given  us  by  a  butcher  and  as 
she  is,  though  affectionate,  not  bright  or  pedigreed,  or  espe- 
cially desirable,  she  has  thriven  down  to  this  day.  When  Clifton 
at  Cornell  heard  about  her  he  wrote :  "My  condolences  to  Sister 
Mary  over  her  new  dog,  for  by  the  time  this  reaches  you  I  pre- 
sume it  will  have  been  poisoned." 

39 


40  BRECKIE 

Patch  was  never  the  companionable  pet  to  Breckinridge  his 
other  Httle  dogs  had  been  and  during  the  next  summer  she  de- 
serted him  altogether  for  my  father,  to  whom  she  has  remained 
constant  in  her  devotion  ever  since. 

In  January  I  wrote  again :  **In  spite  of  all  our  care  Breck  meets 
with  mischances  occasionally,  usually  tumbles,  but  a  few  days 
ago  during  a  recent  bitter  spell  of  weather  he  got  frosted  in 
both  cheeks  and  chin.  When  the  thermometer  hovered  around 
zero  I  was  afraid  of  the  outdoors  for  him  late  at  night.  I  let 
him  go  to  sleep  out  on  his  balcony  as  usual,  on  the  sheepskin, 
in  sleeping  bag,  tucked  in  wool  comforts,  in  his  all-flannel  night- 
drawers  with  feet,  and  light  silk  and  wool  shirt  and  band;  but 
I  promptly  brought  him  in  when  he  had  fallen  asleep  and  put 
him  in  his  indoor  crib  in  my  room,  with  open  windows. 

"It  never  entered  my  head,  however,  that  it  might  be  too  cold 
for  him  outdoors  in  the  day  time,  and  I  never  heard  of  any  one 
in  Arkansas  getting  frosted.  So  on  the  first  bitter  day,  with 
the  thermometer  just  above  zero,  we  went  out  as  usual  for  a 
walk,  he  and  Patch  and  I.  (Mammy  rarely  goes  out  walking 
in  bad  weather  and  if  she  does  venture  she  is  ill.)  There  was 
a  fine,  driving  snow  with  much  wind  and  Patch  looked  so  miser- 
able I  put  her  in  my  sweater.  But  Babekins,  in  leggings,  over- 
shoes, wadded  coat  with  fur  collar,  fleece  lined  mittens,  and 
wool  cap  pulled  over  his  ears,  did  not  look  or  declare  himself 
cold,  and  his  rosy  cheeks  appeared  as  usual.  However,  during 
the  days  following  it  has  developed  that  they  are  tender  to  the 
touch  and  hard  in  spots.  When  Dr.  Phillips  examined  him 
Breckie  said:  *Gogo  (Don't)  pet  Baby  face,  Gocker  Phips.  Baby 
face  sore.'  Mammy  is  putting  on  the  cheeks  twice  a  day  some 
of  the  mutton  suet  dear  old  Alice  got  ready  for  him  the  summer 
at  'the  Brackens'  before  he  was  born.  The  trouble  seems  to  be 
slowly  clearing  up,  but  I  blame  myself  for  this  accident  to  my 
lamb." 


Some  time  before  his  second  birthday  Breckinridge  was  re- 
peating fragments  of  Mother  Goose  rhymes.    At  two  years  he 


BRECKIE  41 

could  say  quite  accurately:  "Tom,  Tom,  the  Piper's  Son" 
(Mammy's  version,  which  concludes  thus:  "Pig  got  loose  and 
killed  ma  goose,  and  dey  put  ole  Tom  in  de  callyboose/')»  "Ding, 
dong  dell"  (all  but  the  last  lines  and  insisting  that  Baby  pulled 
pussy  out  of  the  well),  "Rock-a-bye,  Baby,"  "Bye  Baby  Bunting," 
parts  of  "The  Three  Little  Kittens,"  and  many  other  fragments. 
His  "Ring  around  the  Rosy"  was  also  Mammy's  version,  char- 
acteristically modified  in  transmission: 

"Ring  around  de  rosy. 
Pocket  full  o*  posy, 
Squat  little  Josie." 

Breckie  loved  it  and  when  he  said:  "Quat  'ittle  Dosie"  he  ducked 
his  fat  little  person  down. 

He  also  knew  at  this  time  several  songs  wholly  or  in  part, 
,such  as : 

"I  won't  have  any  your  weevily  wheat, 
I  won't  have  any  your  barley," 

"Where  are  you  going,  Billy  boy,  Billy  boy, 
Where  are  you  going,  charming  Billy?" 

"Oh,  dear,  what  can  the  matter  be, 
Johnny's  so  long  at  the  fair," 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,  you  and  me. 

Little  Brown  Jug  how  I  love  thee,** 

"I'm  Captain  Jinks  of  the  Horse  Marines,*' 

"Cheek  or  chin,  knuckle  or  knee. 
Where  shall  the  baby's  dimple  be?" 

"Go  tell  Aunt  Rhody  de  ole  gray  goose  is  daid," 

"I  see  de  boat  go  round  de  bend. 
Good-bye,  ma  lover,  good-bye," 


and 


"Ole  Dan  Tucker  was  a  mean  ole  man,** 

"De  ole  gray  horse  came  a  tarin*  out  of  de  wilderness,** 

"Step  light,  ladies.  Oh,  Miss  Lou, 

Neber  mind  de  wedder  so  de  wind  don't  blew." 


42  BRECKIE 

This  last  was  an  especial  favorite  of  mine,  so  my  mother  says, 
and  taught  me  at  the  same  age  by  an  old  negro  servant  of  ours, 
"Aunt  Nancy." 

One  time  during  this  third  year,  but  I  have  unfortunately  no 
record  of  the  exact  date,  I  sang  to  Breckie  the  second  part  of 
"Rockabye,  baby,  on.  the  tree  top,"  as  follows : 

"Rockabye,  rockabye,  mother  is  near, 
Rockabye,  rockabye,  nothing  to  fear." 

The  tune  is,  I  admit,  a  bit  wistful,  though  not  so  much  so  as 
the  negro  melodies,  and  my  capacity  for  carrying  any  tune  in  a 
pleasing  fashion  slender.  As  I  sang  this  Breckie  turned  upon 
me  his  deep  blue  eyes  in  which  tears  were  gathering. 

"Dat  makes  Baby  feel  bad,"  he  said,  and  began  to  sob.  With 
caresses  and  tender  words  I  asked  him  to  tell  me  where  it  made 
him  feel  bad.  He  instantly  put  a  hand  on  his  throat,  saying: 
"Dere." 

At  intervals  of  several  weeks  I  tried  the  song  again,  but 
Breckie  either  began  to  cry  or  else  stopped  me  at  the  first  words 
of  the  second  part,  putting  his  hand  on  his  throat  as  indicative 
of  the  place  where  it  made  him  feel  bad.  Finally  we  agreed 
beforehand  that  when  I  began  to  sing  this  song  I  should  never 
go  beyond  the  first  part. 

He  never  objected  to  any  other  song  on  the  score  of  its  making 
him  feel  bad,  and  in  his  fourth  year  he  ceased  objecting  to  that 
one.  I  tried  it  after  an  interval  of  months,  and  apparently  he 
took  no  more  notice  of  it  than  of  any  other.  It  became  his 
custom  in  his  fourth  year  whenever  I  sang  or  told  a  rhyme  he 
did  not  at  that  moment  want,  to  say,  very  politely,  'Tlease  stop." 

Shortly  after  his  second  birthday  I  told  Breckinridge  his  first 
consecutive  story,  not  in  jingles,  that  of  'The  Three  Bears." 
I  wrote:  "He  grasped  the  elements  of  it  at  once  and  now  asks 
for  it  often  and  interlards  the  recital  with  his  own  comments, 
such  as  *No,  no,  Goldilocks,  gogo  eat  bears'  pease  po'idge  cold,' 
and  (after  she  breaks  the  chair  of  the  little  bear,  represented  as 
being  not  much  larger  than  his  cherished  Teddy  bear)  'Bop,  git 
George  fix  it.' " 


BRECKIE  43 


On  the  night  of  February  third  in  1916  I  put  on  a  dress  Breck 
had  not  seen  before,  a  heavy  dark  green  silk  which  had  been 
one  of  my  mother's  Paris  frocks  in  her  Russian  days,  later  re- 
made by  a  St.  Louis  dressmaker,  and  that  winter  adapted  to  my 
figure  by  Dorothy! 

Breckie  lay  in  my  arms  just  before  my  supper  and  his  bed- 
time observing  this  historic  garment.  Then  he  touched  the  sleeve 
and  said :  "Bop's  pitty  dess.    Bop  got  on  pitty  dess." 

"Do  you  like  it?"  I  asked,  and  he  replied  emphatically:  "Yes, 
sir!" 

He  was  from  that  time  on  and  even  earlier,  as  witness  his 
interest  months  before  in  the  buttons  on  a  gown  of  my  mother's, 
as  observant  of  clothes  as  of  everything  else  and  frequently  re- 
marked upon  his  own  and  those  of  others.  The  summer  he  was 
eighteen  months  old,  to  go  back  a  bit,  after  my  sister  had  left, 
he  often  went  into  my  mother's  bathroom,  touched  a  dressing 
gown  of  hers  that  Lees  had  worn,  and  said:  "Sheeshoe,  come 
back."  Later  in  the  year  he  said  once,  on  touching  this  dressing 
gown:  "Tell  Sheeshoe  come  git  her  clo'es." 

I  find  this  rather  exceptional  note  in  my  journal,  dated  Febru- 
ary ninth,  191 6,  when  Breck  was  nearly  one  month  over  two  years 
old:  "Yesterday  morning  Breckinridge  awoke  suddenly  and  sat 
up  in  his  crib  instantly,  as  is  usual  with  him: 

"  *Bop,'  he  said,  'calfie  sat  down  on  de  gwound'  (ground). 

"I  saw  at  once  that  he  had  been  dreaming,  and  this  was  the 
first  time  he  had  ever  told  me  anything  I  clearly  placed  as  a 
dream. 

"  'What  did  the  calf  do,'  I  asked,  *when  it  sat  on  the  ground?* 

"  'Calfie  eat  birdies.' 

"  *Oh,  no,'  I  said,  'Calf  eats  grass  and  flowers.' 

"But  he  persisted :  'Calfie  eat  birdies  on  de  gwound.' " 

At  about  this  time  Mammy  took  a  vacation  of  a  few  weeks  to 
visit  her  daughter  and  granddaughter  whom  she  spoke  of  as 
"Jinnie  May"  and  "Liza"  and  whom  Breckie  considered  as  one 
person.    Dorothy  helped  me  with  Breck  during  her  absence. 


44  BRECKIE 

Mammy's  children  made  frequent  demands  on  her.  One  inci- 
dent, become  famous  in  our  family,  is  that  of  Mammy  being 
called  to  the  long  distance  telephone  to  talk  to  Kansas  City  where 
her  married  daughter  lived.  She  couldn't  take  the  call  until 
she  had  first  paid  for  it  and  she  was  so  scared  over  the  probable 
ill  news  such  an  exceptional  and  costly  thing  portended  that  I 
had  to  support  her,  in  tears  and  trembling,  into  the  booth. 
What  was  her  wrath  to  find  that  the  call  came  from  her  son-in- 
law,  who  wanted  her  to  send  him  fifteen  dollars  so  that  he 
could  go  to  the  funeral  of  an  aunt  in  Oklahoma.  Mammy's 
daughter  put  in  the  plea  for  him,  but  all  I  could  hear  at  our 
end  was  poor  Mammy's  tearful  voice  in  rising  indignation 
ejaculate:  "But,  I  tells  yer,  I  aint  got  it." 

I  have  a  note  in  my  journal  during  the  February  of  Mammy's 
visit  to  Jinnie  May  and  Liza  that  Breck  is  cutting  his  last  two 
jaw  teeth  and  is  a  restless  sleeper,  but  not  very  fretful.  I  added 
that  he  was  quite  ready  to  diet  himself  when  teething. 

I  note  that  at  two  years  and  two  months  he  "carries  water 
from  the  bathtub  to  the  hand  basin  or  Patch's  drinking  pan  and 
with  such  steadiness  that  he  rarely  spills  a  drop.  And  he  can 
drink  a  glass  of  water  as  easily  as  I  do  except  that  he  holds  it 
with  two  hands." 

He  began  going  to  breakfast  with  his  father  this  winter,  not 
that  he  ate  his  breakfast  then,  but  he  sat  in  a  high  chair  by  him 
and  drank  a  full  glass  of  water  and  sometimes,  as  a  special 
treat,  ate  a  little  salt  from  the  palm  of  his  own  hand!  It  was 
my  custom  to  take  breakfast  in  my  own  room,  and  a  little  later 
Breck  invariably  ate  his  with  his  father  when  the  latter  was  at 
home — his  bowl  of  cereal,  cup  of  milk,  and  slice  of  stale  brown 
bread  and  butter  regularly  served  on  a  tray  with  his  father's  meal. 
He  never  expected  anything  but  his  accustomed  rations  and 
his  other  meals  were  always  eaten  at  his  own  little  table 
upstairs. 

I  find  this  characteristic  note  in  my  journal,  written  during 
Mammy's  February,  191 6,  vacation :  "I  got  in  shortly  before  my 
supper  and  found  Babekins  eating  his  at  his  little  white  table, 
with  Dorothy  by,  but  feeding  himself  and  doing  it  well.     When 


BRECKIE  45 

he  saw  me  he  smiled  all  over  his  charming  face,  saying :  "Howdy- 
do,  Boppy  dear.  Howdy-do/  " 

One  night  in  this  same  February  I  felt  sure  that  his  ear 
ached.  He  was  restless  anyway  with  his  nineteenth  tooth  just 
about  through  and  the  twentieth  not  yet  in  sight  through  swollen 
gums.  But  the  ear  ache  was  over  and  above  all  that.  He  kept 
pulling  at  his  ear  and  finally  said  there  was  a  bug  in  it,  and 
asked  me  to  kiss  it.  Then  he  shook  his  head  back  and  forth 
on  his  bed  in  a  way  I  had  often  remarked  in  my  training  as  a 
nurse  at  St.  Luke's  with  babies  with  ear  trouble.  Next  day 
Mammy,  back  from  her  vacation,  and  Patch  and  I  went  with 
him  to  the  office  of  Dr.  Huntington,  an  ear  specialist. 

**He  will  give  you  little  funnels  to  play  with,"  I  said.  "Won't 
that  be  fun?" 

So  he  shook  hands  happily  with  Dr.  Huntington,  asked  at 
once  for  the  funnels,  and  while  he  sat  playing  with  one  offered 
no  objection  to  having  another  put  in  his  ear.  There  was  a 
little  redness,  which  cleared  up  promptly  under  treatment  and 
never  returned. 

On  February  twenty-sixth  Breck  set  up  a  row  of  blocks  on 
end  and  I  covered  a  few  central  ones,  and  said:  "Now  this  is 
Stonehenge."  Then  I  got  out  a  volume  of  the  eleventh  edition 
of  the  "Encyclopaedia  Britannica,"  which  had  been  my  father's 
wedding  present  to  Dick  and  me,  and  showed  him  a  good  photo- 
graph of  the  wonderful  old  pile.  He  was  intensely  interested 
and  often  built  "Ton-enge"  after  that,  always  asking  to  see  the 
picture. 


In  this  same  winter  of  1916  we  began  hoping  for  another 
little  child  to  bless  us  with  its  presence  as  the  first  had  done.  I 
quote  fragments  in  allusion  to  it  from  my  journal  of  that  Feb- 
ruary :  "It  is  true  that  Breckinridge,  so  far  as  I  know,  represents 
out  of  all  eternity  the  beginning  of  motherhood  for  me.  Herein 
is  a  first  baby  always  more  marvelous  than  the  others — ^but  not 
dearer,  I  am  sure  not  dearer.  I  want  this  new  little  creature 
that  is  coming — how  I  want  it !     Little  baby,  that  is  not  yet,  but 


46  BRECKIE 

will  be  when  the  long,  hard  way  is  past, — it  is  awful  to  get  you, 
little  baby.  I  know  now  how  awful  since  your  brother  came. 
But  you,  like  him,  will  be  worth  it  a  thousandfold. 

"But  what  else  on  earth  is  worth  it?  For  what  else  but  the 
creation  of  life  would  one  voluntarily  face  such  suffering? 
Even  now,  half -starved,  weak,  ...  I  have  crept  out  to  the  group 
of  trees  under  Breck's  sleeping  porch  to  write  and  ponder. 
What  else  is  worth  it? 

"It  is  the  balmiest  of  soft  days,  'so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright, — 
the  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky.'  The  ground  is  redolent.  I 
worked  in  it  yesterday  for  an  hour  with  my  trowel,  and  then  grew 
so  tired  ...  so  utterly  tired.  .  .  . 

"But  to-day  I  am  starting  in  with  a  bit  of  strength  renewed. 
I  have  been  reading  Jean  Ingelow's  'Songs  of  Seven'  (which 
I  love)  to  make  me  happy.  I  love  also  this  group  of  trees:  two 
big  pines,  a  hard  and  a  soft  wood  maple,  an  apple  tree  and  a 
curious  tiny  tree  with  silver  leaves,  not  indigenous,  but  whose 
name  no  one  here  knows.  About  its  roots  two  years  ago  I 
planted  crocuses.  Before  long  they  will  be  springing  up  and  the 
apple  tree  will  be  white  with  blossoms.  Then  comes  a  hot 
summer  .  .  .  but  in  the  early  autumn,  with  the  first  red  and 
yellow  leaves,  you  will  be  here,  my  little  second  baby,  my  welcome 
little  second  baby. 

"I  was  telling  Breck  the  other  day  about  *Hot  Cross  Buns,' 
winding  up.  If  you  haven't  any  daughters  then  buy  them  for 
your  sons.' 

"  *Bop,'  said  he,  'Buy  Baby  a  daughter.' 

"  That  would  be  a  little  girl,'  I  replied. 

"  'Boppie,'  said  he,  'Buy  Baby  'ittle  girl.' 

"Now  nearly  every  day  he  begs  for  one  and  promises  to  share 
'Stacey'  with  her,  and,  when  he  isn't  hungry,  he  agrees  also 
to  divide  his  food.  But  when  a  meal  time  comes  around  he  often 
begins  exclaiming:  'No,  'ittle  girl  can't  have  Baby  dear's  pease 
po'idge  cold.  Mammy  bwing  Baby's  milk  'fore  'ittle  girl  gits 
it/  " 

On  March  fourteenth  I  noted  that  Breck  had  cut  his  twentieth 


BRECKIE  47 

and  last  tooth.  On  April  first  I  wrote  as  follows :  "Our  wonder 
boy  grows  apace  in  the  sweetness  of  his  sunny  nature,  in  vigor, 
in  intellectual  development.  We  tested  his  mentality  a  few 
weeks  ago  by  the  Binet-Simon  scale  and  he  was  instantly  and 
correctly  responsive  to  the  tests  for  three  and  four  years. 

"He  is  learning  camp  meeting  hymns  from  Mammy  of  which 
his  favorite  is: 

"Way   down  yonder  by   myse'f, 
Couldn't  hear  nobody  pray. 

**He  also  sings  with  much  patting  of  hands : 

"Oh,  sistern  de  bwidegwoom-me  done  come, 
Oh,  sistern  de  bwidegwoom-me  done  come. 
Oh,  sistern  de  bwidegwoom-me  done  come, 
Awise  and  twimme  yoh  lamps. 

I  am  afraid  that  his  conversation  is  chiefly  a  mixture  of  baby 
talk  and  darkey  talk  like  Mammy's,  though  Dick  is  diligent  in 
correcting  both.  The  other  night  he  woke  me  up  to  ask: 
'Boppie,  is  yer  got  any  owanges?' 

"When  I  said  I  had  he  asked:  'Is  yer  got  any  for  de  'ittle 
girl?' 

"Then  he  counseled  me  to  ask  'de  good,  kind  moo-cow'  to 
get  oranges  for  the  little  girl. 

"Mammy  is  absent  again  for  awhile  and  Dorothy  nurse.  He 
speculated  for  awhile  as  to  Mammy's  absence,  then  asked  me 
point  blank :  'Bop,  where  is  Mammy  ?' 

"My  little  son,  never  yet  have  I  told  you  even  the  faintest  of 
white  lies  and  never  will  I  tell  you  one.  When  you  ask  for 
a  cracker  at  a  time  when  crackers  are  not  distributed  I  never 
tell  you  they  aren't  there.  I  tell  you  yes,  Boppie  has  plenty  of 
them  in  the  Milk  Room  and  Baby  shall  have  one  for  supper — 
but  not  now.  Your  candid  eyes  will  never  meet  anything  but 
equal  candor  in  mine  and  you  shall  know  that  though  the  whole 
world  deceived  you  your  mother  would  not,  that  from  her  you 
must  often  expect  mistaken  judgments  and  false  opinions  (for 
our  opinions  are  tentative  and  formative  many  times)  but  never 
an  untruth,  never,  never  an  untruth." 


48  BRECKIE 

Early  in  April  Patch  was  taken  suddenly  and  mysteriously  ill. 
I  worked  over  her  and  pulled  her  through,  but  suspected  poison 
of  some  sort.  Said  Breck  to  me  on  April  sixteenth:  "Patchie 
sick." 

"Patch  is  well  now,"  I  answered.  He  looked  seriously  at  me 
while  he  replied: 

"Mammy  she'  did  tell  Baby  Patchie  was  sick." 


On  April  eighteenth  I  wrote  as  follows  in  my  journal:  "I 
am  going  to  Fort  Smith  to-morrow  to  see  Dr.  Cooper  and  while 
there  I  shall  make  little  visits  to  Caroline  and  Pansy,  being  gone 
in  all  six  days.  Never  have  I  left  my  boy  for  even  one  whole 
day  except  that  other  time  when  I  ran  down  to  Fort  Smith  for 
two  nights.  I  wouldn't  make  the  trip  and  leave  him  now  just 
for  diversion — but  I  have  to  go  and  while  there  I  shall  take  the 
change  and  relaxation  I  really  need.  Even  so  I  must  train  my 
mind  rapidly  into  acquiescence  with  its  own  plans,  for  I  shall 
hunger  for  my  son.  He  will  be  well  off  with  my  mother, 
Mammy,  and  Dick,  with  Dorothy  coming  over  every  morning 
to  pasteurize  the  milk  and  help  Mammy  at  his  bath.  But  I 
shall  so  miss  him.     To-day  Mammy  said  to  him: 

"  *Shall  we  go  in  de  auto  to  see  Boppie  go  off  on  de  choo-choo 
train?' 

"His  eyes  filled  at  once  and  he  said :  *Boppie,  don't  go  off  on 
de  choo-choo  twain.' 

"One  of  his  expressions  when  urging  my  nearness  is:  'Don't 
weave  Baby.' " 

I  have  been  looking  over  the  letters  from  my  mother  and 
Dick  written  to  me  during  this  visit  in  Fort  Smith  and  full 
chiefly  of  details  of  Breck.  In  the  first  one  my  mother  says 
the  baby  had  asked  for  me  several  times  but  was  always  com- 
forted with  the  expectation  of  the  shoe  strings  I  promised  to 
bring  back  to  him.     In  the  second  one  she  writes : 

"I  avoided  bringing  you  up  as  a  subject  of  conversation  last 
night  but  this  morning  thought  I  would  risk  it  and  said:  'Baby, 


BRECKIE  49 

I  am  going  to  write  to  Boppie  this  morning.  What  must  I  tell 
her?'  Between  mouthfuls  of  pease  porridge  hot  he  answered: 
*Tell  Boppie  to  come  back.'  I  said:  'Must  I  tell  her  to  bring 
Baby  shoe  strings  ?'  *No,  sir,  tell  her  to  bwing  somefing  else.*  I 
said:  'Why,  doesn't  Baby  want  some  nice,  new  shoe  strings?' 
*Ya,  ma'am,  and  somefing  else.'  He  was  perfectly  composed  in 
speaking  of  you  and  very  positive  about  the  something  else.  He 
is  sleeping  soundly  at  present  (on  his  balcony)  while  a  storm 
rages  about  him." 

During  my  absence  it  had  been  arranged  for  Mammy  to  sleep 
in  my  room  by  his  crib  when  he  was  brought  in  at  about  ten  each 
night  from  his  outdoor  bed.  My  mother  writes  that  he  did  not 
awaken  on  being  brought  in  as  usual  the  first  night  of  my  absence 
but  did  wake  up,  according  to  Mammy,  at  twelve  and  stayed 
awake  until  three.  Mammy  reports,  however,  that  she  herself 
went  to  sleep.  He  asked  for  water  once  or  twice  and  to  be 
kissed  and  Mammy  handed  the  water  and  gave  the  kisses  in 
silence,  hoping  he  would  not  notice  she  had  taken  Boppie's  ac- 
customed place.  But  she  said  that  as  she  was  dozing  she  heard 
an  exclamation,  which  was  of  pleasure  according  to  her,  and 
Baby  crawled  out  from  under  his  cover  and  jumped  on  her, 
exclaiming:  "It's  Mammy  wid  a  white  cap."  "He  was,"  wrote 
my  mother,  "apparently,  reconciled  to  the  change." 

When  pressed  frequently  for  messages  to  send  me  he  gave 
them  as  follows :  "Tell  Boppie  to  come  back,"  "Tell  Boppie  Baby 
got  eyes  and  nose."  "Tell  Boppie  to  bwing  somefing  else." 
And,  through  his  father,  "Tell  Boppie  Baby  good  'ittle  boy." 
But  when  asked  if  I  should  be  told  that  he  loved  me  he  said 
positively:  "No,  sir."  However,  a  scrawled  bit  of  paper  is  en- 
closed in  one  of  my  mother's  letters,  where  she  guided  his  hand 
in  holding  what  he  called  a  "pensule"  and  forming  the  words: 
"Dear  Boppie,  I  love  you.  Baby,"  which  she  said  were  entirely 
his  own. 

Once,  too,  my  mother  asked  him :  "If  Baby  saw  Boppie  coming 
in  the  room  what  would  Baby  say  to  her?"  The  reply  came 
promptly:  "Boppie,  take  Baby  out." 

When  asked  what  he  had  dreamed  he  replied  with  equal  swift- 


50  BRECKIE 

ness  but  briefly:  "Jacob."  (We  had  lately  been  telling  him  of 
Jacob's  dream  of  the  angels  going  up  and  down  the  ladder.) 

The  third  night  of  my  absence,  and  thereafter,  his  father  took 
care  of  him  at  night,  but  said  that  he  did  not  awaken  at  all 
when  Mammy  brought  him  in  from  outside  at  ten  or  later. 
At  twenty  minutes  after  six,  however,  he  woke  up  for  the  day, 
turned  over,  looked  up  and  said:  "Howdy-do,  Daddy  Dick. 
How  you  feel  ?     Baby  good." 

Easter  Sunday  during  my  absence  he  had  an  exceptionally 
happy  day.  I  had  left  several  toy  chickens  and  rabbits  for  him 
and  a  set  of  eggs  over  which  my  mother  wrote  "he  nearly  lost 
his  mind."  In  addition  two  charming  children  of  about  ten 
years  old,  Eleanor  and  Marsh,  the  children  of  members  of  the 
faculty  at  Crescent,  shared  their  Easter  eggs,  rabbits,  and 
chickens  with  him  and  let  him  join  in  their  hunt — putting  things 
just  ahead  of  him  where  they  knew  he  could  find  them. 

It  was  during  this  same  absence  of  mine  that  Breck  startled 
a  professor  of  English  from  the  State  University  by  asking: 
"How  is  yer,  Mr.  Jones,"  and  stopped  drinking  his  milk  to  say 
to  his  friend  B.  when  she  came  in  his  room:  "B.,  kin  yer  wead?" 
When  she  replied  that  she  could  he  continued:  "Wead  about 
de  kittens."  This  "B"  and  "Camille,"  which  was  Breck's  name 
for  my  husband's  private  secretary,  were  among  his  earliest  and 
most  devoted  friends. 

My  father  had  disposed  of  some  interests  he  had  on  a  plan- 
tation in  eastern  Arkansas  at  just  this  time  and  come  to  stay  at 
Crescent,  to  Breck's  manifest  satisfaction.  It  is  recorded  in  one 
of  the  letters  that  he  asked  his  grandfather  seriously  one  morning 
at  breakfast :  "Bobo,  have  yer  got  yer  clo's  on  ?" 

His  memory  for  people  and  names  was  extraordinary.  Later 
he  was  nothing  like  so  observant  of  people,  en  masse,  and  more 
dependent  on  the  few  that  he  loved.  But  in  the  early  part  of 
his  third  year  he  knew  the  faces  and  first  and  last  names  of 
over  fifty  of  the  teachers  and  students  at  Crescent  College,  and 
of  many  people  in  town  to  whom  he  always  spoke  cordially. 
What  makes  this  remarkable  is  that  he  saw  very  little  of  them. 
It  was  rare  for  him  to  forget  any  name  or  face  after  an  intro- 


BRECKIE  51 

duction.  When  he  was  less  than  two  and  a  half  years  old  his 
father  introduced  him  one  day  to  a  stranger  named  Clarke. 
The  next  day  Breck,  walking  with  Mammy,  amazed  this  gentle- 
man, who  reported  the  incident  afterwards,  by  singing  out  in 
passing:  "Howdy-do,  Mr.  C'arke." 

Mammy's  friends  among  the  colored  people  were  his,  and 
her  especial  friend,  whom  she  called:  "Sister  Ritchie,"  he  like- 
wise spoke  to  as:  "Sister  Witchie."  Another  pleasant  spoken 
colored  woman,  a  very  large  one,  who  came  to  Crescent  for 
laundry,  he  called :  "Big  Mattie."  A  tall  negro  man  named  Fred 
who  drove  a  wagon  was  a  source  of  special  interest  to  him. 

When  I  got  back  to  Eureka  Springs  from  Fort  Smith  Mammy 
fell  ill  with  lumbago  and  stayed  in  bed  a  week,  during  which  I 
nursed  her  and  took  care  of  Breck  with  no  ill  effects.  One 
rainy  afternoon  early  in  May  when  Breckinridge  and  I  returned 
from  a  walk  through  the  dripping  woods  he  carried  a  present, 
he  had  gathered  himself  for  Mammy,  -pressed  tight  in  one  moist 
fist.  It  was  a  bouquet,  consisting  of  three  violets  and  a  nail,  and 
when  he  handed  it  to  Mammy  in  bed  I  couldn't  determine  which 
of  the  two  looked  the  prouder  or  more  pleased. 


On  the  night  of  May  twelfth  when  he  was  two  years  and 
four  months  old  Breck  made  his  first  inquiry  regarding  certain 
natural  processes  in  his  own  body,  using  nursery  phraseology 
of  course.  So  I  gave  as  simple  an  explanation  as  I  could  of  the 
kidneys,  omitting  the  bladder  as  too  complicated  for  purposes 
of  illustration  then.  I  showed  him  where  the  kidneys  were 
located.  He  already  knew  what  he  called  his  "Lumbar  wegion" 
and  named  it  instantly  as  the  place  where  Mammy  had  pain 
when  she  was  sick.  The  cord  in  the  middle  of  his  back  he 
called  the  "pinal  column"  and  often  remarked  in  eating  that  the 
food  went  down  into  his  "abdomen."  A  year  later  he  took  real 
interest  in  following  the  course  of  his  food  after  he  had  eaten 
it,  and  had  a  rudimentary  but  not  unscientific  general  conception 
of  the  digestive  processes. 


52  BRECKIE 

Early  in  May  Breckinridge  began  again  sleeping  out  all  night 
on  his  balcony,  instead  of  coming  in  at  my  bedtime  as  he  did  in 
the  coldest  weather.  On  the  eighteenth,  after  he  had  been  put 
to  bed,  he  called  me  out  to  ask  me  to  kiss  his  chin.  "What  is 
the  matter  with  it?"  I  asked. 

"Baby  squatched  it  wid  his  fingers.  Fingers  bad.  Fingers 
dangewous." 

A  few  nights  before  this  when  I  was  out  there  putting  extra 
covering  over  him  he  half  woke  up  and  spoke  sleepily  to  me. 
At  the  same  moment  a  bird  twittered. 

"Dat's  a  cat  bird,"  murmured  Breck  drowsily,  closing  his  eyes 
again. 

When  Breckie  was  out  walking  with  me  one  afternoon  we 
passed  a  group  of  school  boys  playing  baseball.  His  eagerness 
to  get  in  on  the  game  was  pathetic  and  often  after  that  he  took 
a  stick  and  tried  his  best  to  bat  his  balls  with  it.  When  he  heard 
Mammy  and  me  discussing  whether  or  not  he  needed  his  sweater 
on  going  out,  he  interrupted  us  to  say  positively :  "He  needs  his 
ball."     That  was  his  real  need. 

Upon  another  occasion  he  heard  me  say  to  her :  "Mammy,  he 
can't  be  trusted,"  and  said  pleadingly :  "Oh,  'et  him  be  twusted." 

Out  in  the  sandpile  one  Sunday  afternoon  he  was  playing  with 
Mrs.  Franche's  two  little  daughters,  Juliette  and  Mary  Gertrude, 
when  he  suddenly  hugged  and  kissed  the  latter,  who  broke  away 
from  him  and  began  to  run.  "Mawy  Gertwude,"  he  said,  "Baby's 
so'y." 

Another  day  he  was  out  on  the  east  terrace  when  he  heard 
his  grandmother  calling  to  him.  Looking  up  he  saw  her  standing 
at  an  open  window  and  called  back  to  her  anxiously:  "Come 
down,  Hoho.     You  will  bweak  your  bones." 

We  never  let  him  climb  into  the  window  seats  and  had  to  be 
mighty  careful  not  to  sit  there  ourselves  in  his  presence.  One 
such  example  from  us  naturally  undid  all  we  might  say,  since 
he  could  not  see  why  it  would  be  unsafe  for  him  if  not  for 
us.  Once,  at  a  somewhat  later  period,  he  ran  in  and  found  me 
sunning  my  hair  in  a  window  seat  and  cried  out :  "Boppie,  dat's 


BRECKIE  53 

dangewous.  Boppie,  get  down."  Needless  to  add  I  complied 
with  all  haste  and  acknowledgment  of  wrongdoing. 

On  June  thirteenth  I  wrote :  "About  two  weeks  ago  Breckin- 
ridge asked  his  first  question  about  God.  I  had  him  in  my 
arms  one  Sunday  evening  and  said  to  him:  *God  bless  my  baby, 
and  help  him  to  make  himself  a  good  boy.' 

"* Where's  God?'  asked  Breck. 

"  ^Everywhere,'  I  answered  vaguely.  *In  the  blessed  moon,  in 
baby's  head  and  heart  and  little  feet,  in  Boppie,  in  everybody, 
in  the  four  leaf  clovers  and  the  little  birds.'  He  appeared  deeply 
interested  but  has  not  touched  upon  the  subject  since. 

"Breck's  schedule  now  is  as  follows :  When  he  rises  in  the 
morning  he  has  the  juice  of  two  oranges.  Later  he  breakfasts 
in  our  little  private  dining  room  with  his  father  and  grandfather 
on  a  coddled  egg  and  crisp  toast.  Afterwards  he  and  Mammy 
sally  forth  for  the  morning,  coming  in  before  noon  for  his  bath. 
Meantime  his  quart  bottle  of  milk  has  come  and  I  have  pasteur- 
ized it  and  put  it  in  Walker-Gordon  tubes  in  the  upper  part  of 
his  own  small  refrigerator.  After  his  bath  he  has  one  of  these 
eight  ounce  bottles  of  milk  to  drink  and  a  cracker  or  two  of  his 
own  choice,  viz :  graham,  arrowroot  or  bran,  or  a  piece  of  zwie- 
back. Then  he  goes  to  bed  for  his  nap.  When  he  wakes  at 
two  or  thereabouts  he  has  his  dinner,  prepared  by  ourselves,  con- 
sisting generally  of  a  bit  of  rare  tenderloin  steak,  broiled  on  our 
little  broiler,  or  young  chicken,  a  slice  of  stale  brown  bread  and 
butter,  eight  ounces  of  milk,  and  a  vegetable,  often  beans  or 
greens  from  our  own  garden,  or  asparagus  tips,  carrots,  a  baked 
potato,  or  beet  tops.  Then  he  and  Mammy  spend  the  balance 
of  the  afternoon  out  of  doors.  They  are  fond  of  going  with  a 
little  cup  to  one  of  the  springs,  especially  the  Grotto,  Crescent, 
or  Hardin,  where  they  drink  any  quantity  of  water.  Some- 
times they  walk  farther  afield,  or  just  play  about  the  grounds 
where  he  has  gardening  tools,  wheel-barrow,  sandpile,  etc.  At 
six  they  come  in  and  Babekins  has  a  supper  of  rice  and  milk, 
or  some  other  cereal  and  milk,  and  goes  promptly  to  bed  on 
his  sleeping  porch  for  the  night, — after  he  has  had  hands  and 


54  BRECKIE 

face  washed  and  often  feet,  for  the  dust  sifts  in  through  his 
sandals,  and  has  brushed  his  teeth." 

He  loved  brushing  his  teeth  and  in  his  fourth  year  could 
do  it  so  well  as  to  require  little  of  the  assistance  we  necessarily 
were  giving  in  his  third.  In  his  fourth  year  he  also  learned  how 
to  gargle  his  throat  expertly. 


In  the  middle  of  June  Breckinridge  was  ill  with  quite  a  high 
fever  and  a  rash  which  my  mother  and  Mammy  pronounced 
measles,  of  which  there  happened  to  be  a  few  cases  in  town. 
We  will  never  know  what  he  had  because  when  Dr.  Phillips  saw 
him  the  rash  had  not  come  out  in  a  definite  way  and  early 
symptoms  were  not  typical,  and  later,  when  it  had,  I  could  not 
locate  the  doctor. 

This  illness  began  in  the  night  suddenly  with  vomiting  and  a 
high  temperature,  which  in  the  morning  had  dropped  a  little. 
At  the  same  time  a  small  flat  eruption  appeared  on  arms,  thighs, 
buttocks,  back  and  lower  abdomen  and  slightly  on  the  chest. 
Under  appropriate  treatment  the  temperature  gradually  went 
down,  was  normal  that  day  and  rose  the  second,  failing  to  go 
down  even  under  treatment.  The  third  morning  a  splotchy  red 
rash  appeared  on  his  face  and  the  back  of  his  neck  and  the 
temperature  promptly  dropt  to  nearly  a  degree  subnormal.  It 
was  subnormal  for  three  successive  mornings  and  did  not  rise 
above  normal  again.  The  rash  gradually  faded,  but  Breckie  was, 
that  rare  thing  for  him,  cross  and  fretful  for  fully  four  days 
following  this  illness.  In  less  than  a  week,  however,  he  was 
again  the  joyous^  hearty  boy  to  whom  we  were  accustomed,  and 
I  find  the  following  note  in  my  journal  dated  June  twenty-sixth : 

"Yesterday  afternoon  late  Dick,  Breck  and  I  had  a  happy 
walk  and  Breck  climbed  way  up  on  a  high  ladder — with  Dick 
standing  by — and  then  down  again,  very  smoothly,  after  a  pre- 
liminary puzzling  over  hands  and  feet. 

"He  always  speaks  of  himself  in  the  third  person,  sometimes 
climbing  into  my  lap,  saying :  'Boppie,  pet  him.'     The  other  day 


BRECKIE  55 

he  fell  off  a  fence  he  was  climbing  ^ind  picked  himself  up  with 
this  query  to  his  nurse :  'Mammy,  did  he  hurt  himself  ?'  If  he  is 
interrupted  in  his  play  he  says :  'Baby's  busy.' 

"The  other  night  when  I  was  out  on  his  sleeping  porch  arrang- 
ing his  covers  I  called  his  attention  to  the  stars,  for  the  curtains 
of  the  porch  had  been  let  down  and  it  was  a  bright  night.  He 
said :     'Dem's  Baby's  'ittle  stars.' " 

He  loved  on  this  balcony  at  night  to  listen  to  the  tree  frogs 
and  katydids,  about  which  he  often  talked.  The  myriad  sounds 
of  a  Southern  summer  night  interested  and  pleased  him.  The 
wind  too  became  as  real  a  personality  to  him  as  to  any  child 
of  a  more  primitive  time.  He  learned  to  call  the  gentle  winds 
Zephyr  and  the  rude  ones  Boreas.  On  particularly  wild  nights 
when  Boreas  was  storming  all  around  the  balcony  Breckie  talked 
to  him  with  affectionate  familiarity.  In  lulls  we  caught  snatches 
of  his  end  of  the  conversation. 

No  one  who  has  not  slept  out  of  doors  alone  month  in  and 
month  out  as  Breckinridge  did  can  appreciate  the  charm  of  his 
bedtimes  and  his  awakenings,  the  dropping  off  to  sleep  with  the 
drowsy  bird  notes  and  rousing  to  their  insistent  calls.  Grieg 
must  have  known  about  it,  since  he  imitated  the  symphony  of  the 
birds  so  extraordinarily  well  in  his  Peer  Gynt  Suite.  Breckie 
loved  them.  The  two  he  observed  most  at  this  period,  I  suppose 
because  they  are  conspicuous,  were  the  red-headed  wood-pecker 
and  the  "old  jay."  But  he  could  not  admire  the  jay  because  of 
its  quarrelsome  disposition. 

I  think  one  reason  why  Breckie  had  such  a  sweet  and  joyous 
heart  was  because  of  his  nights  out  of  doors  and  his  matins 
with  the  birds  after  the  sun  had  shot  its  first  long  rays  across 
his  opening  eyes.  I  think  the  winds  helped  too,  "winds  austere 
and  pure,"  and  the  waving  boughs  of  the  two  tall  maples  which 
guarded  his  little  crib. 

8 

One  day  in  June  Breck  came  to  me  asking  for  a  story.  I 
reversed  the  usual  procedure  by  requesting  him  to  tell  me  one. 


56  BRECKIE 

He  began  with  alacrity  and  delivered  himself  of  the  following, 
which  I  took  down  in  pencil  immediately  afterwards :  ''One  day 
'ittle  girl  walkin'  fwough  woods  and  er  ole  snake  bit  her  patellas 
and  her  muver  had  to  put  black  salve  on  her  patellas  'ittle  girl 
cwied  so  one  day." 

He  was  two  years  and  five  months  old  when  he  told  this  story, 
his  first.  The  following  morning  I  questioned  him  further  and 
he  repeated  the  tale,  but  the  villain  in  the  piece  had  evidently 
experienced  a  change  of  heart  for  he  added :  "But  er  ole  snake 
didn't  mean  to  do  it." 

At  about  this  time  he  had  another  vivid  dream,  waking  up 
and  calling  out  loudly  that  he  didn't  want  to  be  taken  by  "de  lady 
wid  de  black  abdomen." 

9 

That  summer  was  excessively  hot  and  my  mother  and  I  often 
longed  for  the  cool  sweetness  and  solitude  of  her  island  home, 
the  Brackens,  in  Canadian  Muskoka.  Our  summers  for  many 
years  had  nearly  all  been  spent  there,  but  none  of  us  had  been 
able  to  go  up  since  the  summer  before  Breck's  birth. 

With  the  beginning  of  the  extreme  heat  and  the  first  crowds 
of  summer  vistors  to  Eureka  Springs  my  health  was  not  so  good 
as  it  had  been  and  I  was  often  tired,  especially  after  Breck's 
little  illness.  I  gave  up  working  among  my  flowers  and  fre- 
quently felt  discouraged  and  ill.  But  I  continued  to  feel  deeply 
the  blessedness  of  my  condition  with  one  little  child  playing  by 
me  and  another  next  my  heart — and  now,  less  than  two  years 
after,  bereft  of  both,  I  sit  with  empty  arms  in  a  silent  room  re- 
calling the  promise  life  held  for  me  then. 

Dated  June  twenty-seventh  I  find  the  following  in  my  journal : 
"In  writing  I  do  not  often  put  down  the  troublous  things,  the 
every-day  annoyances  and  deeper  distresses  which  I  do  not  want 
to  associate  indelibly  with  my  life.  It  is  an  obligation  as  well 
as  a  desire  for  me  to  control  my  thoughts,  cultivating  wherever 
possible  only  the  sweet  and  gracious  ones.  This  I  owe  to  those 
around  me  and  particularly  to  my  children,  for  already  I  think 
of  myself  as  the  mother  of  children,  not  just  of  one  child. 


BRECKIE  57 

"But  there  are  inevitable  annoyances — though  not  so  many 
things  in  my  environment  annoy  as  once  did.  I  have  learned, 
in  my  condition,  to  be  grateful,  when  so  many  are  homeless,  for 
shelter,  when  nations  like  Poland  and  Servia  are  starving  for 
food.  I  feast  my  eyes  on  the  beauty  of  this  rugged  country 
and  shut  my  ears  to  the  discords  of  a  great  crowded  house. 
My  own  apartments  are  a  sanctuary  and  so  is  much  of  the  out 
of  doors.  It  has  been  my  privilege  to  rear  my  boy  through  his 
tenderest  years  in  a  land  at  peace,  where  the  right  food  has 
been  available  and  all  he  needed  of  sunshine  and  air.  War  and 
the  evils  of  great  cities  have  been  far  from  us  and  if  I  am  not 
carrying  my  second  child  in  that  dearest  of  quiet  homes,  that 
loveliest  of  islands.  The  Brackens,'  I  am  at  least  carrying  it 
in  the  fresh  air,  with  pure  water,  good  food,  surroundings  of 
physical  comfort,  and — all  about  me  to  look  at — the  'hills  of 
God.'  I  have  flowers  to  work  among,  sweet,  though  not  in  a 
garden  forever  my  own,  and  rambling,  lonely  walks.  I  have 
books,  enough  occupation,  and  no  hard  work.     I  have  security." 

All  these  blessings  were  not  to  avail  in  bringing  me  safely  the 
chiefest  of  all  blessings,  another  little  child.  The  last  of  June 
Mammy  was  called  home  to  Fort  Smith  by  the  illness  of  a 
daughter  which  seemed  to  be  of  indefinite  duration.  It  became 
a  question  of  another  nurse  for  Breckinridge  and  there  was  only 
one  person  in  that  part  of  Arkansas  I  was  willing  to  entrust 
with  this  precious  responsibility.  Already  I  had  noticed  that 
Breck  was  outgrowing  Mammy,  whose  faithful  devotion  would 
have  tended  admirably  my  second  little  baby  but  whose  rheumatic 
legs  and  substantial  person  could  not  keep  up  with  a  child  of 
Breckie's  large  activity.  I  felt  that  he  was  not  free  enough. 
Neither  she  nor  I,  in  my  condition,  could  keep  up  with  him. 

The  person  I  now  wanted  for  his  nurse  was  Juliette  Carni,  a 
French-Swiss  woman  with  whom  I  had  long  been  acquainted. 
Breck  and  I  on  our  walks  had  often  stopped  at  her  house  in 
Dairy  Hollow  to  talk,  the  mutual  attraction  at  first  being  that 
she  came  from  a  country  where  I  had  spent  two  years  of  happy 
girlhood  at  school,  a  country  to  the  memory  of  which  her  heart, 
like  that  of  every  exiled  Swiss,  never  ceased  clinging. 


58  BRECKIE 

Juliette  had  recently  lost  her  little  baby  and  was  anxious  to 
nurse  another  child.  I  therefore  engaged  her  for  Breckinridge 
to  whom  she  was  to  become  a  second  mother,  for  the  devotion 
between  them  lasted  unbroken  to  the  day  of  his  death. 

It  was  arranged  that  Juliette  continue  sleeping  at  her  home 
where  she  had  a  husband  and  nine-year-old  daughter,  but  come 
to  me  every  morning.  Every  afternoon  Breckie,  after  his  nap 
and  dinner,  went  with  her  down  to  the  Dairy  Hollow  to  play. 
She  brought  him  back  at  five  thirty,  gave  him  his  supper  and 
put  him  to  bed.  This  plan  suited  us  both  and  she  was  ready  to 
stay  at  Crescent  in  the  evening  should  I  need  her.  She  had 
every  Sunday  afternoon  at  home  to  herself  and  later  every 
Thursday  as  well. 

Between  Mammy's  going  and  Juliette's  coming  there  were  two 
days  when  I  had  no  nurse  and  I  overtaxed  my  already  depleted 
strength.  In  addition  Breck  met  with  an  accident  which  was  an 
awful  shock  to  me.  His  balcony  crib  was  a  model  thing  of  its 
kind,  the  largest  size  made,  plain  iron  white  enameled,  with  the 
highest  obtainable  sides  and  smooth  spindles  closely  spaced. 
The  sides  at  that  time  reached  up  to  Breck's  chest  and  it  had 
never  entered  the  heads  of  any  of  us  that  he  might  possibly  climb 
over  them.  This  is  just  what  he  did,  however,  and  met  with  a 
terrible  fall.  When  I  ran  to  him,  climbing  the  stairs  like  the 
wind,  he  had  picked  himself  up  and  was  sobbing  piteously,  his 
poor  head  badly  hurt  above  the  eyes.  I  will  never  forget  the 
look  he  gave  me,  it  had  so  much  assurance  in  it  that  I  would 
understand  and  comfort,  as  I  raised  him  in  my  arms. 

Juliette  came  the  next  day  and  he  took  up  with  her  at  once 
in  happy  fashion,  first  with  that  cordial  sociability  with  which 
he  greeted  everybody  and  soon  in  the  special  way  of  affectionate 
attachment.  This  was  fortunate  for  I  was  soon  past  helping  in 
his  care.  After  I  had  been  five  days  ill  in  bed,  in  spite  of 
everything  two  doctors  and  a  trained  nurse  could  do  to  prevent 
it,  my  little  daughter  Mary  was  born  prematurely  at  half  past 
three  in  the  morning  on  Saturday  the  eighth  of  July,  and  in 
six  hours  died. 


BRECKIE  59 

10 

O  little  ship  that  passed  us  in  the  night, 
What  sunrise  wast  thou  bound  for,  as  we  sailed 
Our  longer  voyage  in  the  wind  that  wailed, 

Across  dark  waves  with  few  great  stars  in  sight? 

Or  wast  thou  bound  for  where,  in  dim  half-light, 
The  Isles  that  None  Return  From  lie  thick-veiled 
In  their  eternal  mist ;  and  shrunk  and  paled. 

The  sun  of  Ghostland  shines  from  changeless  height? 

We  had  but  time  to  hail  and  ask  her  name. 

It  sounded  faint,  like  "Persis,"  and  we  heard 
"God's  haven"  as  the  port  from  which  she  came; 

Bound  for    .    .    .    But  in  the  sobbing  of  the  wind. 
And  clash  of  waves,  we  failed  to  catch  the  word. 
And  she  was  gone;  and  we  were  left  behind. 

— Eugene  Lee-Hamilton. 

She  was  an  exquisite  baby  with  well  shaped  head,  broad  brow, 
and  eyes  set  wide  apart.  Side  by  side  with  one  of  Breckie's 
yellow  curls  I  have  yet  a  lock  of  her  straight  brown  hair. 

With  all  the  welter  of  woe  in  Europe  it  did  not  seem  like  a 
great  loss,  just  one  little  girl  baby.  But  she  was  my  little  girl 
baby,  and  I  had  been  loving  her  from  the  very  beginning.  For 
nearly  seven  months  I  had  carried  her  and  now  my  body  felt  so 
still  since  she  had  left  it  and  my  very  breasts  were  to  throb  for 
lips  which  could  never  suckle  them. 

From  one  dark  cradle  to  another  with  hardly  a  break  between ! 
Only  six  hours — and  then  she  had  passed  back  into  the  great 
silence  from  whence  she  had  come. 

I  grieved  for  the  life  which  she  had  missed,  the  splendid  work 
she  might  have  done,  the  human  motherhood  she  might  not 
know  in  all  its  dearness  as  I  knew  it.  But  always  through  my 
grief  there  ran  that  ever-lasting  hope  of  the  soul  of  man,  which 
spoke  for  my  darling  a  continuity  of  life  with  possibilities  so 
vast  that  this  little  episode  of  birth  and  death  could  not  really 
matter,  except  in  linking  her  to  me  forever,  through  a  mother's 
imperishable  love. 


6o  BRECKIE 

After  she  had  died  I  lay  for  some  time  with  the  precious  little 
body,  which  for  months  had  been  so  close  to  me,  tight  in  my  arms. 
Then  I  heard  Breckinridge  outside  and  asked  to  have  him 
brought  in.  When  he  came  to  the  side  of  my  bed  I  laid  the 
little  baby  in  his  arms  and  said :  "This  is  your  little  sister." 

Breckinridge  looked  at  me  with  radiant  eyes.  "Baby  wants 
to  see  her,"  he  said,  trying  to  remove  the  handkerchief  from  her 
face.     When  he  was  prevented  he  petted  her  proudly. 

Often  during  the  days  that  followed,  after  she  had  been  carried 
by  her  father  down  to  Fort  Smith  and  buried,  in  our  family  lot, 
her  brother  came  to  my  bedside  to  talk  of  her.  Once  I  told  him 
that  perhaps  she  lived  among  the  stars  his  loving  heart  went 
out  to  every  night  as  he  lay  on  his  outdoor  bed.  He  replied, 
with  evident  recollection  of  the  shrouded,  still  figure  he  had 
held :  "Baby  is  goin*  to  get  her  and  pack  her  to  you,  Boppie,  and 
unw'ap  her  and  wake  her  up." 


II 

A  few  pictures  of  Breckinridge  at  this  period,  while  I  lay  ill 
in  bed  through  long,  hot  hours,  stand  out  with  peculiar  vivid- 
ness although  I  find  no  record  of  them  in  my  journal.  One  is 
of  him  coming  in  with  Juliette  after  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Jordan,  the 
Swiss  lady  who  made  his  bread,  and  standing  by  my  bed  in  a 
pink  and  white  low  neck  suit  without  sleeves — yellow  hair  curl- 
ing tight  over  his  head,  eyes  very  big  and  blue, — declaring: 
"Boppie,  Puts  was  asleep  under  de  stove."  Puts  was,  so  Juliette 
told  me,  the  Jordans'  gray  cat. 

Another  is  of  his  being  brought  in  to  me  very  early  in  the 
morning  by  his  father,  who  said :  "I  asked  him  what  he  wanted 
to  play  with  and  he  said  *Give  him  a  belt,'  but  it  doesn't  satisfy 
him  long."  So  then  he  was  left,  at  my  request,  that  morning 
and  subsequent  mornings  too  on  my  bed  until  my  nurse  came  in 
to  me  and  Juliette  for  him.  The  bed,  a  large  old  rosewood  one 
with  a  tester,  in  which  I  had  sometimes  slept  as  a  .girl,  made  a 
fair  sized  playroom  for  him,  and  I  let  him  ransack  the  contents 
of  my  work  basket  while  he  sat  there  by  me.     It  was  great  fun 


BRECKIE  6i 

for  us  both  and  it  eased  the  soreness  in  my  heart  to  turn  from 
the  death  of  my  baby  to  this  remaining  precious  child. 

Breck's  curls,  of  which  I  have  written,  were  not  long  ones. 
His  hair  curled  naturally,  especially  in  damp  weather  or  when  he 
perspired,  in  tiny  ringlets  all  over  his  head.  Mammy  called  them 
"drake's  tails."  I  was  careful  to  cut  them  back  often  enough 
to  keep  him  from  being  bothered  with  tangles  of  hot  hair  on  his 
neck.  I  have  seven  envelopes  of  these  yellow  "drake's  tails"  for 
I  trimmed  them  back  seven  times. 

While  I  was  ill  Breck  began  to  pick  up  French  from  Juliette 
— bits  at  a  time.  A  friend  of  mine  told  me  later  of  his  running 
into  her  house,  followed  by  Juliette,  and  exclaiming :  "Lanky,  en 
haut  is  upstairs  and  en  bas  is  downstairs."  The  first  rhyme 
he  learned  was :  "Un,  deux,  trois,  nous  allons  au  bois." 

12 

While  I  lay  through  these  hot  days  my  father,  mother  and 
husband  began  planning  for  my  mother  and  me  to  take  Breckie 
and  Juliette  and  her  daughter  Liliane  and  go  up  to  Canada  as 
soon  as  I  could  travel.  It  was  a  wonderful  plan.  Always  I 
seemed,  in  that  hot  room,  to  be  hearing  "Lake  water  lapping  with 
low  sounds  by  the  shore,"  and  at  last  the  old  dreams  were  to 
become  again  realities. 

I  left  Eureka  Springs  Monday,  the  seventh  of  August,  with 
Juliette,  Liliane,  and  Breck,  and  with  Dick  taking  us  to  Seligman 
to  put  us  on  the  St.  Louis  sleeper.  My  mother  had  gone  on 
ahead  to  do  some  necessary  shopping  in  Toronto  and  engage 
another  maid. 

We  were  two  nights  and  a  day  reaching  Toronto,  but  Breck 
stood  the  trip  well.  I  had  tucked  all  sorts  of  new  things  for 
him  to  play  with  in  the  corners  of  his  suitcase  and  Juliette  pro- 
duced them  at  intervals,  thus  enlivening  the  tedium  of  the  day. 
I  remember  vividly  awaking  the  first  morning  an  hour  or  so  out 
of  St.  Louis  to  find  him  already  awake,  sitting  up  and  staring 
hard  out  of  the  window  at  the  woods  and  fields  past  which  we 
were  rushing.  In  fact  what  woke  me  was  his  exclamation: 
"Oh,  see  de  pine  comb  chees!" 


62  BRECKIE 

Though  he  stood  the  trip  well  it  proved  too  much  for  my  re- 
turning strength  and  I  had  to  lie  over  twenty- four  hours  in 
Toronto  at  the  old  Queen's  hotel,  of  which  I  had  always  been 
fond  because  of  my  grandfather's  having  stopped  there  in  the 
days  of  his  exile.  Juliette  took  Breck  out  walking  and  bought 
him  a  plaster  pig,  wearing  a  Prussian  helmet,  and  sold  for 
a  Belgian  relief  fund.  We  named  it  "]vLnkQr''  and  it  lies  in  the 
toy  box  now  in  far  grander  company  than  it  ever  deserved,  to  wit, 
with  the  English  horse  we  called  after  Kitchener  and  other 
gentlemen.  We  met  my  mother  at  the  Queen's  and  left  for 
Muskoka  the  next  day  with  a  maid  named  Helen,  who  was  to 
become  one  of  Breck's  many  friends,  and  with  a  loved  relative, 
my  Aunt  Jane,  who  had  joined  us  in  Toronto.  On  the  journey 
down  we  met  unexpectedly  two  favorite  cousins  from  Mississippi 
and  through  the  care  of  one  of  them  I  was  able  to  continue  on 
to  the  Brackens.  I  had  become  so  very  faint  and  ill  that  with- 
out his  help  from  the  berth  in  the  train  to  the  boat  I  could  not 
have  managed. 

It  was  several  days  after  we  reached  the  Brackens  before 
I  could  leave  my  bed  upstairs  and  so  I  missed  the  joy  I  had 
anticipated  of  being  the  first  to  show  the  wonders  of  the  place 
to  Breckinridge.  On  the  twelfth  of  August  I  wrote  in  pencil: 
"I  have  seen  nothing  of  the  islands  yet  except  from  the  win- 
dows of  the  North  Room,  but  that  little  is  more  beautiful  than 
anything  I  have  seen  since  I  last  was  here.  The  moon  reaches 
a  long,  silver  arm  across  the  lake  and  through  the  doors  of 
my  balcony  nearly  on  to  my  bed." 


13 

By  August  eighteenth  I  was  evidently  able  to  be  up  and  in 
swimming,  for  I  find  in  a  letter  to  my  husband  of  that  date 
this  account  of  Breckinridge:  "You  would  have  been  proud 
of  the  fearless  and  eager  way  in  which  he  first  went  in  the 
water.  But  he  started  to  run  as  we  were  all  splashing  in  the 
bay  and  fell  over  on  his  face.  I  caught  him  before  his  head 
went  under  all  the  way,  but  he  got  water  up  his  nose.     You 


BRECKIE  63 

would  have  been  proud  of  him  again  for  he  hardly  cried  a  mo- 
ment, seemed  more  shocked  than  grieved,  and  almost  at  once  be- 
gan again  splashing  water.  That  was  two  days  ago.  He  has  not 
asked  to  go  in  since  and  I  have  not  suggested  it.  I  am  waiting 
for  the  suggestion  to  come  from  him  as  a  sign  that  he  is  no 
longer  frightened.  He  has  a  little  wooden  canoe  that  was 
Clifton's  that  he  loves." 

He  often  went  in  the  bay  again  before  the  water  got  too  cold 
and  never  seemed  frightened,  though  the  incident  referred  to 
made  him  cautious.  He  said  the  lake  had  choked  him,  and  added 
with  a  charming  smile  to  me:  *'Boppie,  did  you  pull  Bweckin- 
widge  out  by  de  hair?"  He  loved  rowing  and  canoeing  of  all 
things  and  in  the  shallow  bay  where  an  upset  would  not  matter 
I  often  let  him  sit  alone  in  his  bathing  suit  in  one  of  the  smaller 
boats  and  manipulate  the  oars  or  paddle,  while  I  walked  along 
in  the  water  close  to  him.  He  really  handled  the  oars  well  and 
I  think  had  boat  and  oars  been  adapted  to  the  size  of  a  two  and 
a  half  year  old  he  would  have  succeeded  with  them  admirably. 
He  was  never  frightened  on  the  water,  even  in  rough  weather, 
and  no  more  disturbed  when  waves  dashed  over  the  boat,  delug- 
ing him  with  their  spray,  than  I  was  myself.  When  any  of  us 
started  to  push  off  in  a  boat  we  could  usually  hear  him  calling: 
"Wait  for  Bweckinwidge."  When  he  went  with  us  in  the  boats 
he  sat  on  a  cushion  at  the  feet  of  whoever  did  the  steering  and 
was  perfectly  quiet,  because  we  had  explained  the  danger  of 
moving  in  boats,  trailing  his  little  canoe  by  a  string. 

14 
We  were  designedly  a  small  household  in  the  roomy  house 
that  in  other  years  had  ever  been  full  of  our  kindred  and 
friends.  Aunt  Jane  and  Eleanor  were  our  only  guests  this  sum- 
mer, and  they  not  really  guests  of  course  since  they  are  one 
with  us.  Lees  came  up  for  a  few  weeks  before  returning  to  her 
work  in  Richmond,  but  my  two  brothers,  whose  fondest  associa- 
tions hung  about  the  place,  were  far  away — Carson  as  assistant 
naval  attache  at  Petrograd  and  Clifton  in  training  at  Platts- 
burg. 


64  BRECKIE 

We  turned  Gifton's  old  room  into  a  nursery  where  Breckie 
slept  in  a  crib  we  bought  in  Toronto.  I  left  him  in  Juliette's  care 
at  night  so  that  I  could  sleep  later  in  the  morning,  but  this  period 
succeeding  my  illness  was  the  only  part  of  his  life  when  any 
one  but  his  mother  regularly  had  care  of  him  at  night,  excepting 
right  after  he  was  born. 

I  wrote  in  my  journal  of  our  life  on  the  little  island:  "It  is 
simple,  it  is  plain,  it  is  heaven.  We  live  in  beauty  and  breathe 
in  health  with  every  breath.  We  linger  on  the  water  and  I  am 
in  it  swimming  once  or  twice  each  day.  We  wander  among  the 
rocks  and  trees,  and  at  night  we  gather  about  the  lamp  before 
the  great  fire  of  wood  in  the  stone  chimney  and  read  aloud. 

"From  the  open  windows  of  the  North  room,  which  I  occupy, 
I  overlook  that  expanse  of  water  over  which  the  northern 
lights  play  often  at  night,  and  now  and  then  I  raise  my  grateful 
eyes  to  look  across  this  loved  spot.  From  a  distance  comes  the 
voice  of  my  little  son  at  play — ^but  close  by  me,  closer  than  any 
but  the  dead  can  reach,  is  that  other  voice  of  my  baby  girl.  I 
hear  it  in  the  lapping  of  the  lake  upon  the  shore,  in  the  wind 
sighing  softly  in  the  cedar  and  hemlock  trees;  I  feel  it  in  the 
brave  sunlight  and  the  wide  stretches  of  water  and  sky,  and  in  the 
spicy  odors  of  the  forest.  Perhaps  that  is  why  we  are  affected 
supremely  by  such  things.  Perhaps  they  are  the  voices  of  our 
dead,  the  voices  of  little  children  and  babies  who  cannot  reach 
us  through  any  other  language  until  we  too  are  free. 

"But  I  still  waken  at  night  and  imagine  she  is  a  live  baby  and 
I  am  nursing  her,  and  Breckinridge  (to  whom  I  talk  of  his  little 
sister  who  has  gone  to  live  beyond  the  stars)  has  asked  me  for 
"anuder  'ittle  sister"  that  won't  go  so  far  away.  Beyond  the 
stars  I  As  if  one  knew !  She  is  closer  yet.  I  know  it  in  my 
own 'body  where  she  lived  and  in  my  heart  that  loved  her.  Some- 
where her  destiny  is  wrought  out  and  my  love  gives  me  a  claim  to 
share  it.    This  is  my  faith,  my  hope  of  immortality." 


BRECKIE  65 


15 


Breckinridge,  in  constant  association  with  Juliette,  soon  picked 
up  French.  On  August  twenty-seventh  I  noted :  "He  is  rapidly 
learning  an  excellent  French  but  mixes  the  two  languages  at 
present."  Once  when  I  asked  him  for  a  message  to  his  father 
he  said:  'Tell  him  Bweckinwidge  had*dejeuner  and  some  fish;" 
and  another  time,  as  he  splashed  in  his  bath  he  said:  "Dites-lui 
que  le  savon  est  un.papillon  (pronounced  by  B.  papiwon)  and 
Bweckinwidge  is  a  bon  gargon." 

When  we  passed  under  a  clothes  line  he  exclaimed :  "Fegardez 
(meaning  regardez)  le  night  gown  de  Tante  Lees!" 

Among  the  toys  which  had  been  Clifton's  when  he  was  little 
older  than  Breckinridge  and  which  we  found  in  the  top  of  the 
boathouse  were  some  soldiers,  a  fire  engine,  and  a  hook  and  lad- 
der truck.  With  these  soldiers  for  angels  Breckie  rehearsed 
Jacob's  dream.  One  morning  he  said  to  me  that  Juliette  called  his 
angels  "des  soldats." 

A  month  later  and  Breck  had  ceased  to  confuse  French  and 
English  and  from  then  on  to  the  end  of  his  four  years  he  was 
equally  at  home  in  both.  This  was  what  I  had  expected  from 
reading  of  how  early  the  language  centers  develop  in  the  brains 
of  little  children  and  from  remembering  how  my  brother  Clifton 
at  Breck's  age,  when  we  were  living  in  Russia,  had  a  fair  nursery 
vocabulary  in  Russian,  English,  French,  and  German.  The  lit- 
tle Russians  with  whom  I  played  in  those  days  all  spoke  two  or 
three  other  languages  as  readily  as  their  own  just  from  hearing 
them  constantly  spoken. 

In  other  respects  Breckie  continued  to  develop  with  that  ex- 
traordinary rapidity  so  characteristic  of  unhampered  babies.  At 
this  time,  and  indeed  always  thereafter,  I  noticed  an  intense 
earnestness  at  play  which  contrasted  strongly  with  the  joyous 
flashes  of  light  illuminating  his  face  in  conversation.  Nothing 
could  exceed  the  seriousness  of  his  expression  when  he  played — 
a  seriousness  almost  stately  in  a  child  whose  broad  brow  and 
deep  colored  eyes  gave  him  a  rather  striking  appearance  at  all 
times.    Play  was  the  real  business  of  his  life — as  indeed  we  now 


€6  BRECKIE 

know  it  to  be  with  the  young  of  all  highly  developed  creatures. 

I  recall  standing  with  my  sister  one  day  at  the  Brackens  and 
watching  Breckie  run  around  the  table  of  our  outdoor  dining 
room  with  Liliane  in  pursuit.  His  expression  was  so  earnest  and 
grave  that  Lees  exclaimed :  "No  matter  what  he  is  doing  he  looks 
like  a  senator." 

As  soon  as  he  began  talking  with  any  one  the  smiles  fairly 
chased  each  other  across  the  face  which  had  responded  so  seri- 
ously to  play.  I  wrote  of  a  steam  launch  full  of  old  friends  from 
other  islands  calling  one  day  late  in  August,  and  added:  "The 
whole  party  were  charmed  with  Breck,  who  went  up  to  every- 
body in  his  cordial  way,  repeating  each  name  as  he  shook  hands." 
A  friend  from  Virginia  who  spent  a  few  days  with  us  early 
in  September  wrote  nearly  two  years  later:  "I  remember  him 
as  the  most  perfect  blending  of  all  that  was  beautiful  and  attrac- 
tive in  childhood,  with  an  understanding  and  poise  of  mind 
seldom  found." 

Breckie's  love  for  the  lake  grew  to  be  almost  as  absorbing  a 
passion  with  him  as  it  had  been  for  years  with  me  and  he  became 
quite  fanciful  about  it  and  about  the  sky.  Once  he  said  that 
there  was  another  lake  up  behind  the  clouds  and  when  on  the 
water  he  often  said  he  was  behind  the  clouds.  His  mind  was 
so  full  of  water  that  when  I  asked  one  day  what  message  I  should 
send  his  father  he  said :  "Tell  him  to  take  a  baf ." 

i6 

On  the  first  of  September,  fearing  the  threatened  railroad 
strike,  Aunt  Jane  left  the  Brackens  and  Eleanor,  Juliette,  Liliane, 
Breck  and  I  went  with  her  on  the  big  boat  as  far  as  the  locks 
at  Port  CarHng.  Then  we  walked  back  through  the  woods  three 
miles  or  so  to  a  sandy  bay  about  two  miles  from  the  Brackens 
where  Mr,  Bissonette,  our  old  French-Canadian  caretaker  and 
gardener,  met  us  by  appointment  with  two  row  boats. 

Meanwhile  a  terrible  wind  had  arisen  and  was  blowing  just 
across  our  course.  I  decided  Breckie  was  safer  with  Mr. 
Bissonette  than  with  me  and  so  put  him  with  Eleanor  in  Mr.  B.'s 


BRECKIE  67 

boat.  That  left  Juliette  and  me  to  row  the  other  with  Liliane  in 
the  stern.  Juliette  had  learned  to  pull  a  strong  oar,  which  was 
certainly  needed  on  this  occasion  as  the  storm  fairly  raged 
around  us  and  I  never  had  a  worse  pull.  We  finally  tried  tacking 
and  made  better  headway,  going  against  the  wind  to  the  shelter 
of  an  island,  then  following  the  line  of  the  island  on  the  lee- 
ward side  and  finally,  having  worked  considerably  to  the  south 
of  the  Brackens,  coming  down  with  the  wind  on  the  last  stretch. 
It  was  an  exhausting  row  but  did  me  no  harm  and,  except  for 
blistered  hands,  I  was  none  the  worse  next  day.  Of  Breckie's 
conduct  we  were  all  immensely  proud.  He  sat  at  Eleanor's 
feet,  deluged  often  with  the  spray  of  waves  breaking  over  the 
boat,  but  quite  unafraid  and  much  interested. 

Many  people  said  that  Dick  made  the  best  father  they  ever 
knew.  Even  when  Breck  was  a  very  little  baby  Dick  gave  him 
any  amount  of  personal  attention  and  the  two  were  uncommonly 
chummy  as  Breck  got  older.  During  that  summer  at  the  Brack- 
ens Breck  spoke  frequently  of  him.  Once  when  I  was  telling 
him  good-night  he  said,  almost  tearfully  and  without  sugges- 
tions on  my  part:  "Tell  faver  he  wants  to  sweep  (sleep)  wif 
him."  When  I  reminded  him  that  father  was  in  Eureka  Springs 
he  cried  out :    "O,  Boppie,  take  faver  to  Hoho's  Island.'' 

One  day  he  began  running  round  and  round  the  big  hall  and 
when  I  asked  him  what  he  was  doing  he  said:  "Wookin  for 
faver."  He  often  sent  casual  messages,  some  of  them  unsolicited, 
such  as:  "Tell  him  to  come  to  Bweckinwidge."  "Tell  him  he 
(meaning  himself)  is  playing  wif  soldiers  and  wagons."  "Tell 
him  he  can  wow  (row)  fast  and  quick" — which  was  an  over- 
statement of  facts.  Once  he  said  to  Juliette :  "Dites  a  son  pere 
de  venir  vers  lui,"  and  once,  when  he  had  picked  a  wild  aster, 
he  gave  it  to  Juliette  saying:  "II  veut  Tenvoyer  a  son  pere."  I 
pressed  it  and  enclosed  it  in  my  next  letter  to  Dick,  where  I 
was  to  find  it  again  long  afterwards. 


68  BRECKIE 

i8 

One  day  late  in  September  when  Juliette,  Helen,  and  Liliane 
had  all  gone  to  the  county  fair  at  Bracebridge,  the  county 
seat,  and  I  was  giving  Breck  his  bath  for  the  first  time  since 
my  illness,  I  left  the  water  running  and  he  stuck  his  hand  un- 
der the  faucet.  Instantly  he  came  to  me,  calling  out  as  he  came 
"Boppie,  c'est  twop  (trop)  chaud.  II  s'est  bwule  (brule)".  He 
got  caught  in  the  bushes  on  another  occasion  and  told  me  that 
his  grandmother's  island  had  "scwatched  him."  Sometimes  as 
he  ran  up  and  down  he  exclaimed:  "C'est  Beckidge  qui  court." 
It  was  not  until  after  his  third  birthday  the  following  winter  that 
he  ceased  speaking  of  himself  in  the  third  person. 

I  have  the  remembrance  of  his  first  impersonations  associated 
with  the  Brackens,  of  his  playing  baby,  sick  soldier,  and  once 
of  his  descending  the  stairs  in  a  fresh  white  suit  below  which 
the  bloomers  showed  only  a  little,  and  saying  to  me  with  a 
shy  smile:   "It's  a  'ittle  girl." 

Late  in  September  I  wrote  his  father  as  follows :  "Yesterday 
I  took  the  boy  back  into  the  woods  behind  old  Captain  Howe's 
hut  to  the  swamp  where  the  tamaracks  grow,  where  the  moss  is 
deep  and  red  and  the  rushes  are  tall.  Quantities  of  spruce  grow 
also  in  this  swamp,  and  tall  plants  with  a  bloom  like  cotton.  All 
around  the  edges  of  the  swamp  the  deciduous  trees  were  touched 
with  yellow  yesterday.  The  boy  enjoyed  plunging  through  the 
rushes,  taller  than  his  head,  and  sinking  deep  in  the  moss.  You 
and  I  went  to  this  marsh  one  windy  day  on  our  honeymoon  and 
took  a  long  walk  on  the  old  road  off  to  the  left  of  it.  Do 
you  remember? 

"Coming  back  yesterday  the  lake  was  entirely  calm  and  the 
air  had  a  wet  smell.  Breckinridge  sat  with  me  and  rowed 
with  me  going  over — really  quite  well.  He  can  propel  the  boat  a 
little,  but  of  course  doesn't  handle  his  oars  well,  nor  has  he 
great  force.  His  education  is  progressing — for  he  is  learning 
how  to  row  a  boat,  to  hammer  nails  in  wood,  to  be  steady  and 
sure-footed  on  rocks,  to  respect  deep  water  and  hot  stoves,  to  sit 
still  in  a  boat  and  why  he  does  it,  and  many,  many  other  things. 


BRECKIE  69 

He  is  also  becoming,  among  these  Canadians,  quite  as  pro-ally 
in  his  sympathies  as  even  his  parents  could  wish.  He  told  me 
of  a  certain  bee  in  the  goldenrod  that  it  was  a  Mangewous  bee — 
a  German  bee.* 

"He  is  learning  the  Twenty-third  Psalm  and  knows  about 
half  of  it.  We  act  it  as  he  learns;  then  we  tell  it  to  the  big 
hydrangeas  down  by  the  water's  edge  and  they  whisper  it  back 
to  us.  The  grassy  slope  from  the  Southern  veranda  to  the 
little  bay  is  a  'green  pasture,'  the  lake  a  'still  water,*  and  the 
little  path  back  of  the  island  is  a  'path  of  righteousness.*  We 
haven*t  gotten  to  the  'valley  of  the  shadow  of  death*  yet  and 
I  don't  know  how  I  shall  depict  that.'*' 

"He  learns  eagerly  and  easily  and  it  is  so  jolly  to  teach  him. 
I  hope  he  won't  want  to  learn  to  read  before  he  is  eight  years 
old  because  oculists  unite  in  declaring  the  eye  too  unformed  be- 
fore eight  to  use  print  without  risk  of  eye  trouble  later.  So  my 
eyes  will  have  to  serve  him  as  long  as  possible  and  I  will  read 
a  thousand  delicious  and  noble  things  to  him.  I  wonder  what 
his  tastes  in  literature  will  be.  He  accepts  willingly  enough  all 
he  is  taught  now.  How  wonderful  it  is  to  watch  a  remarkable 
mind  in  its  early  development  and  help  in  its  education!  We 
must  be  careful  not  to  stifle  it,  careful  to  help  it  to  follow  its  own 
bent,  careful  to  fill  it  with  tender  and  lofty  images,  careful  to 
have  only  the  best  food  accessible  for  it  to  seize  upon.  I  sup- 
pose the  education  of  a  child  is  difficult  chiefly  because  it  is  one*s 
own  education.  We  can't  ram  one  moral  into  a  child*s  head 
and  live  by  another,  tell  it  to  keep  its  temper  and  lose  our  own. 
The  other  day  Breckinridge  struck  at  me  with  his  open  hand. 
I  said:  'Breckinridge,  does  Boppie  ever  strike  you?*  In- 
stantly with  his  quick  catching  at  the  right  he  threw  himself  upon 
me  declaring  in  his  broken  way  that  he  wouldn't  strike  either. 
How  different  would  the  feeling  in  his  heart  have  been  had  I 
struck  back ! 

"Old  Mr.  Bissonette  is  immensely  proud  of  Breckie,  says  he  is 

*  (Note — at  that  point  Breckie  lost  interest  and  we  did  not  pursue  the 
subject  further.) 


yo  BRECKIE 

the  strongest  child  for  his  age  he  ever  saw — says  he  reasons  and 
that  he  never  knew  a  baby  to  reason  before.  I  don't  suppose 
the  reason  of  a  baby  is  brought  out  as  a  rule  and  if  it  isn't  ap- 
pealed to  how  could  it  develop?  Nothing  develops  until  it  is 
used." 

Mr.  Bissonette  put  Breckie  through  a  military  drill  nearly 
every  day,  both  of  them  standing  upright,  facing  each  other,  and 
solemnly  going  through  certain  setting  up  exercises,  some  of 
which  were  hard  for  Breck's  plump  little  person  to  execute. 

19 

Breckinridge's  play  room  at  the  Brackens  on  stormy  days  was 
the  top  floor  of  the  launch  and  boat  house,  a  roomy  space,  all 
open  but  sheltered  from  the  wet  and  full  of  all  sorts  of  delectable 
things  to  delight  the  little  boy :  old  boats  and  tools  and  camping 
outfits  and,  mixed  in  with  them,  Clifton's  little  red  wheelbarrow, 
toy  boats,  tin  dishes,  soldiers  and  other  pathetic  reminders  of  his 
childhood.  Soon,  I  felt,  would  Breckie  be  growing  beyond  them 
too.  But  now  I  know  he  never  will — not  that  is  in  the  world  we 
know  of.  The  old  boats  and  tools  and  toys  lie  up  there  under 
the  snow  with  the  frozen  lake  all  about,  while  the  first  little 
boy — grown  a  soldier — prepares  to  serve  his  country  on  a  foreign 
shore,  and  the  second — after  a  death  as  heroic  as  the  bravest 
soldier's — sleeps  under  the  grasses  of  a  southern  grave. 

How  Breckie  did  enjoy  that  old  boathouse  and  its  fascinating 
junk!  Tired  of  my  typewriter,  I  often  left  the  house,  and, 
wrapped  in  a  long  waterproof  cape  I  had  as  a  girl  in  Switzer- 
land, I  ran  down  to  the  connection  between  the  two  islands, 
stepped  in  the  boathouse,  and  there,  at  the  foot  of  its  stairs, 
close  by  the  slips  of  water,  I  stood  and  called.  Instantly  Breckie's 
sunny  head  appeared  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  in  his 
gracious  voice — a  voice  whose  inflections  were  the  sweetest  I  ever 
heard — ^he  called  back : 

"You  can  come  up  here,  Boppie.    You  can." 

In  my  journal  in  late  October  I  wrote :  "Old  Mr.  Bissonette  is 
usually  there  (in  the  boathouse)  with  Juliette,  Liliane,  and 
Breck,  and  he  is  mending  rugs  with  a  long  sailcloth  needle  and 


I 


BRECKIE  71 

worsted  and  a  horny  protector  in  the  palm  of  his  hand,  instead 
of  a  thimble, — which  is  sewing  sailor  fashion.  The  occupation 
charms  Breckinridge,  who  adores  Mr.  Bissonette  anyway,  and 
he  has  promptly  learned  to  sew.  I  have  in  my  work  bag  a  bit  of 
lace  in  which  he  took  his  first  stitches.  Now  he  can  sew  a  button 
on  his  shirt  or  romper,  though  I  have  to  thread  his  needles  with 
double  thread,  and  fasten  his  threads  when  he  has  finished. 
Last  night  just  before  supper  he  came  into  the  big  hall  where  we 
were  sitting  around  the  fire,  sat  down  and  sewed  on  two  buttons 
with  much  gravity.  But  of  course  they  weren't  in  the  right  place 
for  buttons  and  I  had  to  cut  them  off  later."  He  never  sewed  for 
more  than  a  few  moments  at  a  time  and  I  hardly  think  gave  it 
enough  attention  to  strain  his  eyes. 

His  appetite  at  this  time,  so  I  wrote,  was  stupendous  and  he 
had  gained  nearly  seven  pounds  since  we  came  up,  weighing 
on  the  supply  boat  scales  forty  pounds — which  was  a  little  over 
thirty-eight  without  his  clothes.  I  never  recorded  any  but  his 
naked  weight.  During  the  hot  weather  in  Arkansas  he  had  lost 
some  of  his  high  color,  but  it  all  returned  at  the  Brackens  and 
he  was  a  splendid  looking  child,  red-cheeked,  hearty,  his  face 
alight  with  a  succession  of  radiant  smiks  except  when  he  engaged 
in  the  serious  business  of  play. 

He  came  into  the  big  hall  every  evening  while  Juliette  was 
getting  ready  his  supper  of  bread  and  milk,  and  usually  he  rushed 
for  Gipsy,  our  time-honored  cat  of  many  summers  (the  cleanest 
of  cats,  living  on  the  islands  with  us  and  smelling  of  sweet  bal- 
sam and  pine)  who  was  generally  to  be  found  at  that  hour  dozing 
in  a  cushioned  chair  before  the  liberal  fire.  Breckinridge  mingled 
his  yellow  curls  with  Gipsy's  sleek,  black  fur  and  then  grabbed 
him  by  the  middle  and,  staggering  over  to  me,  exclaimed :  " Vous 
pouvez  avoir  ce  minet." 

In  talking  French  with  him  Juliette  used  only  the  "vous." 
She  said  she  had  found  that  if  one  tutoies  American  children, 
who  are  not  likely  to  hear  the  language  out  of  their  homes,  then 
"lis  tutoient  tout  le  monde."  So  we  all  used  the  vous  in  speak- 
ing to  Breck,  except  Lees,  who  could  never  bring  herself  to  say 
"vous"  to  a  baby. 


72  BRECKIE 

A  dominant  trait  in  Breckinridge,  in  possessing  which  he  re- 
sembled his  father,  was  keenness  of  observation.  That  auttmin 
at  the  Brackens  he  learned  to  know  both  the  Union  Jack  and  the 
Stars  and  Stripes.  There  hung  a  photograph  of  the  U.  S.  Ala- 
bama, on  which  Carson  once  served,  by  the  tall  clock  in  the  big 
hall,  with  an  American  flag  flying  from  it.  The  whole  thing  was 
not  particularly  vivid  or  strikingly  apparent,  and  the  flag  in  the 
picture  was  quite  small,  but  Breckie  called  my  attention  to 
it  one  day  by  saying:  "Fegardez  ce  dwapeau  Amewicain!" 


20 

Breckie  learned  that  summer  and  autumn  many  little  French 
poems  and  songs  from  Juliette's  well  stored  memory,  such  as: 
"Frere  Jacques,"  "Quand  j'etais  dans  ma  chambrette,"  ''Ainsi 
font,  font,  font,  les  petites  marionettes,"  "Deux  Petits  Yeux," 
"L'Ange  Guardien,"  "Enfin  nous  te  tenons,  petit,  petit  oiseau." 
One  day  he  was  walking  around  the  island  with  me  when  sud- 
denly a  bird  flew  up  in  the  air  from  close  by  our  feet.  Breck 
watched  it  a  moment,  then  burst  out  singing:  "Enfin  nous  te 
tenons,  petit,  petit  oiseau." 

He  called  the  bath  house  the  bath  tub  house.  One  day  he  was 
playing  on  the  edge  of  the  little  pier,  the  one  for  the  small  boats 
in  the  bay,  with  his  wooden  canoe.  I  said:  "Be  careful. 
Breckinridge,  or  you  will  fall  in."  He  replied :  "And  if  he  did 
would  you  put  on  your  having  suit  and  catch  Beckinwidge  ?"  A 
leisurely  mode  of  rescue,  truly!  Sometimes  he  called  himself 
"Beckinwidge,"  then  "Bweckinwidge,"  and  occasionally  "Beck- 
idge." 

That  autumn  was  an  exquisite  blending  of  color  and  wind, 
spray,  frost,  and  sunlight,  on  our  dear  islands  of  quietness.  We 
had  several  small  adventures,  which  greatly  interested  Breck. 
Eleanor  and  I  routed  out  a  large  creature,  too  big  for  a  mink, 
which  we  took  to  be  a  fox,  one  night  as  we  returned  in  a  boat 
from  the  mainland  with  the  mail.  On  October  fourth  I  wrote 
to  Dick :  "Eleanor  saw  a  bear  last  night  swimming  over  to  *Wis- 
towe.*    At  first  she  thought  it  must  be  a  great  dog  and  it  scared 


BRECKIE  73 

her  when  she  perceived  what  it  really  was,  but  the  bear  was  worse 
scared.  Breckinridge  and  I  routed  a  big  muskrat  out  of  the 
rushes  the  other  day.  B.  was  excited.  A  wild  duck  took  a  bath 
this  morning  in  the  lake  right  under  my  window.  Not  for  years 
have  I  seen  the  wild  creatures  as  little  shy.  That  is  because  of 
the  comparative  scarcity  of  tourists  this  summer,  I  suppose.  O,  it 
is  heavenly  quiet,  beautiful, — a  golden  and  red  glory  behind  a 
soft  haze." 

From  other  October  letters  to  his  father  I  cull  the  following 
notes  of  Breckinridge: 

October  6,  1916. 

"I  read  your  message  to  him  this  morning  and  asked  him  if 
he  didn't  want  to  say  something  for  me  to  write  you.  I  grieve  to 
write  that  he  replied:  *0,  he  doesn't  want  to  say  anyfing.'  But 
soon  after  he  seized  your  letter,  held  it  in  front  of  him  and 
read  out:  'Cher  pere,  je  vous  aime  de  tout  mon  coeur.' 

''Eleanor,  bless  her  heart,  is  making  him  two  suits  of  clothes, 
which  will  be  two  less  to  buy.  She  is  always  making  things 
for  other  people.  Between  her  sewing  machine  and  my  type- 
writer there  is  an  incessant  racket  upstairs  all  morning.  We 
seldom  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  staying  out  until  afternoon, 
except  mother,  who  is  improving  these  exquisite  days  by  sys- 
tematically gardening  with  Mr.  Bissonette.  It  is  so  warm  these 
last  days  we  can  sit  out  without  wraps.  In  father's  last  letter  he 
said:  'You  will  be  wanting  to  come  back  now,  for  it  must  be 
doleful  on  the  lakes  since  everybody  left.'  Doleful,  doleful !  with 
the  forest  a  pageant  of  color,  the  air  like  wine,  the  sun  divine 
in  its  radiance,  the  moon  in  untroubled  splendor  hallowing  each 
night.  Now  that  'everybody'  is  gone  and  the  lakes  are  pre- 
tematurally  quiet,  more  so  than  I  have  known  them  in  many 
years,  the  shy  creatures  that  hid  back  in  what  the  natives  up  here 
call  'the  bush'  are  coming  out  a  bit.  Even  the  wild  ducks  ap- 
proach near  us.  We  are  often  apt  at  dusk  to  meet  strange,  wild 
things — blessed  wild  things.  At  night  we  have  a  roaring  wood 
fire  and  'Anne  of  Geierstein.'  Then  we  sleep  with  the  lap-lapping 
of  the  waves  against  our  shores  and  even  the  fish  (was  it  Eu- 
ripides who  so  quaintly  called  them  the  Voiceless  children  of  the 


74  BRECKIE 

deep?'    I  read  of  it  in  the  Princess  Priscilla's  Fortnight),  even 
the  fish  do  not  rest  more  tranquilly  than  we." 

Octobers. 

"I  have  been  romping  in  the  pine  groves  with  your  son.  As 
I  came  up  to  write  I  saw  him  running  with  a  stick  and  heard 
Juliette  calling:  'Que  faites  vous?'  To  which  he  replied:  *I1 
joue.'  It  has  taken  him  exactly  three  months  to  acquire  the 
French  language,  not  indeed  a  very  vast  vocabulary,  but  as  good 
in  French  as  in  English.  I  see  no  difference  now  between  the 
two  and  he  passes  from  one  to  the  other  with  equal  ease.  You 
will  revel  in  him.  He  will  astonish  you.  In  two  months  the 
difference  in  his  development  and  conversation  is  marked." 

October  15. 

"Last  night  came  the  post  card  of  the  sow  and  her  little  ones 
you  drew.  I  showed  it  to  Breckinridge  this  morning,  asking 
him  what  it  was.  Your  art  is  natural  for  he  replied  at  once :  'a 
pig-'" 

"I  have  just  shown  him  the  post  card  picture  of  you  on  horse- 
back with  the  girls,  and  I  pointed  you  out.  Without  a  word  he 
leaned  forward  and  kissed  the  picture,  then  said:  'Beckidge  a 
embwasse  faver.' " 

Oct.  19. 

"B.  enjoyed  your  card  and  repeated  gleefully:  Taver  calls 
Beckidge  young  buck !'  He  says :  'Faver  will  meet  him  in  St. 
Wouis  and  take  him  to  de  wions  and  tigers.'  " 

21 

In  happiness  and  natural  beauty  did  Breckinridge's  opening 
personality  continue  to  expand  and  on  October  22nd  he  achieved 
a  moral  victory.  I  laid  aside  my  preparations  for  leaving  to 
record  it  in  my  journal  as  follows: 

"Last  summer  once  when  he  needed  castor  oil  he  rebelled  and 
wept  over  the  dose.  I  gave  it  anyway  but  resolved  to  see  what 
training  would  do  before  there  came  occasion  to  repeat  the  dose. 
So  I  led  some  of  the  play  to  sick  soldiers  and  the  way  they 


BRECKIE  75 

take  their  medicine — for  I  am  no  pacifist  and  am  lost  in  wonder 
every  day  over  the  way  they  take  their  medicine  of  every  kind. 
Breckinridge  has  often  been  a  sick  soldier  in  the  past  months 
and  has  taken  his  imaginary  medicine  well.  Yesterday  morning 
and  to-day  there  were  evidences  of  a  slight  digestive  disturbance 
— so  our  game  had  to  stand  the  test  of  real  life  as  games  often 
must.  Juliette  had  prepared  Breck  when  he  awoke  and  he  came 
running  into  my  room  with  a  determined  face : 

"  'Boppie,'  he  said,  *have  you  some  medicine  for  dis  sol- 
dier?'" 

He  recognized  the  castor  oil  and  took  it  without  flinching.  I 
did  not  soil  the  triumph  by  any  external  reward,  only  took  his 
hand  and  said  gravely :    *  Congratulations,  soldier/  '* 


22 

It  was  time  to  leave,  to  take  Breckie  away  from  the  beautiful 
islands  in  which  his  body  and  soul  had  both  grown  larger.  On 
Thursday,  the  nineteenth  of  October,  I  had  written  to  my  hus- 
band: 

"This  will  be  my  last  letter.  It  goes  down  on  to-morrow's 
boat  and  we  follow  on  the  next  boat,  which  is  Monday's.  Mean- 
while it  is  storming  outside,  raging  even.  The  waves  break  into 
white  caps  under  my  windows  (and  far  out  across  the  lake) 
— looking  like  lovely  gulls  alighting  for  an  instant  on  the 
angry  water.  It  will  have  to  be  angrier  than  it  is  to  keep  me 
from  going  for  the  mail  to-night  on  the  chance  of  a  letter  from 
you  and  to  post  this.  I  love  the  lake  when  it  is  all  tossed  about 
like  this  even  more  than  I  love  its  placidity,  and  I  like  to  get 
out  in  a  boat  and  wrestle  with  it  as  Jacob  did  with  the  angel. 
He  said:  'I  will  not  let  thee  go  except  thou  bless  me.'  The 
blessing  of  an  angry  lake  lies  in  the  vigor  and  buoyancy  one  gets 
out  of  it — and  those  are  blessings  indeed. 

"But  we  are  leaving.  All  sorts  of  farewells  from  all  sorts  of 
loved  places  have  been  ringing  for  the  past  week  in  my  ears.  In 
the  poignancy  of  good-bye  there  is  always  the  dread  that  it  may 
be  final  and  therein  lies  its  sting.    Listen  to  a  few  examples : 


76  BRECKIE 

"  'For  Lochaber  no  more,  Lochaber  no  more, 
We'll  maybe  return  to  Lochaber  no  more/ 

"*Some  of  us  will  never  see  you  again,  loved  valley  of  Vir- 
ginia/   'Shall  I  ever  forget  thee,  Jerusalem !'  '* 

I  can't  say  that  Breckie  took  the  parting  from  his  grand- 
mother's dear  home  as  we  older  people  did — ^but  in  effect  it  was 
he  who  was  never  to  see  it  again.  He  had  been  radiantly  happy 
at  the  Brackens.    But  then,  he  was  radiantly  happy  everywhere. 

We  left  Monday  morning,  October  twenty-third — Helen  stay- 
ing behind  to  help  Mr.  Bissonette  close  the  house.  As  our  boat 
pushed  off  from  the  wharf  they  both  stood  waving  and  Breckie 
waved  back  at  them  until  we  had  rounded  another  island  and 
the  Brackens,  with  the  golden  and  red  glory  of  its  birches, 
maples,  and  oaks,  and  the  darkness  of  its  evergreens — with  its 
lovely  shores  silhouetted  against  the  lake's  blue  and  the  homey 
smoke  rising  from  its  stone  chimneys, — passed  out  of  his  sight 
forever. 

23 

On  our  return  trip  from  Canada  to  Arkansas  we  stopped  off 
for  two  days  and  a  night  at  St.  Louis,  where  Dick  met  us  and  took 
us  to  rooms  h-e  had  engaged  at  the  Planter's — in  which  were 
fresh  flowers.  He  declared  that  the  sweetest  thing  Breck  had 
learned  in  his  newly  acquired  French  was  to  answer,  when  he 
addressed  him,  "Oui,  mon  pere."  That  first  afternoon  while  we 
shopped  and  Juliette  visited  two  sisters  living  in  St.  Louis,  Dick 
took  Breckie,  both  overjoyed  at  being  together  again,  to  a  toy 
shop  and  gave  him  the  wholly  novel  experience  of  looking  the 
place  over  and  choosing  what  he  liked.  A  diminutive  tennis 
racket  is  the  only  thing  left  of  several  selections.  Breckie  paid 
for  them  all  himself. 

The  next  day  we  took  him  to  a  children's  photographer, 
who  let  him  play  at  will  in  a  room  full  of  toys  and  got  several 
natural  looking  poses.  Then  we  went  with  him  to  an  orthopedic 
surgeon  that  I  wished  to  consult  because  of  a  tendency  he  had 
to  walk  with  his  toes  turned  out.     He  prescribed  shoes  built 


BRECKIE 
Age  Two  Years  and  Nine  Months,  with  His  Father 


BRECKIE  77 

up  a  little  on  the  inner  sides,  and,  after  we  had  ordered  them, 
we  went  out  to  the  zoo.  Dick  said  all  along  that  the  chief  reason 
he  had  met  us  at  St,  Louis  was  to  take  Breckinridge  to  the 
zoo.  But  it  made  no  greater  impression  on  him  than  a  stable, 
and  lions  and  tigers  not  a  whit  more  than  horses  and  cows.  For 
some  months  afterwards  he  did  indeed  remember  and  occasionally 
allude  to  a  certain  savage  pussy  and  the  way  she  jumped  on  a 
shelf  to  eat  her  meat,  after  rolling  over  and  over  begging  for  it. 
And  he  remembered  the  monkeys  even  better  and  their  diet  of 
bread,  apples,  turnips,  and  carrots.  He  was  interested — ^but  not 
more  interested  in  the  marvels  of  the  zoo  than  in  the  common- 
place marvels  which  made  up  the  wonderland  of  his  daily 
life. 

There  was  a  donkey  for  him  at  Eureka  Springs  when  we  re- 
turned, which  his  father  had  bought,  and  which  he  bestrode 
on  a  little  saddle  that  had  belonged  to  Clifton  some  fifteen 
years  before.  His  grandfather  presented  blanket  and  bridle  and 
"Peter  Pan"  (his  name  was  Pete,  which  suited  him,  but  some 
one  ran  it  into  the  inappropriate  Peter  Pan)  with  his  equipment 
became  a  part  of  our  establishment  for  a  year.  Breckie  liked 
to  ride  him  occasionally  and  to  lead  him  now  and  then,  and  we 
found  him  most  useful  carrying  provisions  on  picnics.  But  Breck 
tired  of  him.  He  was  too  active  and  eager  a  child  to  be  willing 
to  remain  long  on  a  donkey.  A  year  later,  when  Breck  was 
three  years  and  twenty-two  months  old,  he  really  ceased  to  care 
for  Peter  Pan  at  all  and,  as  feed  was  very  high,  we  sold  him 
then.  But  before  this  happened  Breck  had  learned  to  handle 
him  alone,  even  at  Peter's  most  rapid  gait,  with  considerable 
ease,  to  guide  him  to  right  or  left,  to  dismount,  but  not  to  mount, 
alone. 

During  our  absence  Patch  had  attached  herself  permanently 
to  my  father,  who  had  been  taking  care  of  her,  and  through  her 
own  choice  became  his  dog.  Dr.  Phillips'  dog,  Dixie,  followed 
suit  and  the  two  little  fox  terriers  were  much  about.  Breckin- 
ridge had  a  pleasant  acquaintance  with  Dixie,  dating  back  to  his 
earliest  recollections.  I  remember  once  soon  after  he  was  two 
years  old  coming  in  with  him  and  meeting  Dixie  standing  on  a 


78  BRECKIE 

box  on  the  Crescent  west  veranda,  and  Breckie's  inquiring  with 
sweet  courtesy:  "How  do  you  do,  Dixie?  How  did  you  get 
way  up  dere?''  Occasionally  when  the  dogs  lay  about  on  the 
floor  of  our  study  Breckie  would  stumble  over  them  and  several 
times  we  heard  him  exclaim :    "Excuse  me,  Dixie." 

He  was  always  most  courteous  in  his  manner — ^partly,  I  sup- 
pose, because  we  never  failed  to  thank  him  after  he  had  obliged 
us  or  to  preface  a  request  of  him  with  please.  Once,  several 
months  later,  when  his  father  had  taken  something  suddenly 
from  him,  he  said :  "You  didn't  say  excuse  me.  You  gwabbed." 
In  his  fourth  year  he  had  become  quite  thoughtful  about  pulling 
off  his  glove  when  he  shook  hands,  pulling  out  a  lady's  chair  for 
her  if  one  sat  with  him  and  his  father  at  breakfast  (he  wanted 
to  do  this  because  he  saw  his  father  and  grandfather  do  it)  and 
taking  off  his  hat,  if  it  wasn't  snug  fitting  knitted  headgear,  when 
he  spoke  to  people  out  of  doors.  These  little  things  and  his 
cordial  manner  in  speaking  made  him  a  great  favorite  with  his 
fellow  townsmen.  When  I  walked  out  with  him  many  people 
whom  I  did  not  know  even  by  sight  sang  out  "Hello,  Breck,"  to  us 
in  passing. 

24 

But  to  revert  to  the  autumn  of  191 6.  A  dear  young  cousin 
had  come  to  study  at  Crescent,  Florence  Carson, — a  cousin  I 
had  loved  from  her  earliest  childhood  on  her  father's  plantation 
in  Mississippi.  Between  her  and  Breckie  that  year  and  the  next 
there  grew  up  a  happy  friendship,  so  that  she  is  reckoned  as  one 
of  the  factors  in  his  life.  I  remember  well  a  picnic  he,  she  and 
I  took  one  day  in  November,  just  after  Breck's  nap,  with  the  dogs 
and  Peter  Pan.  He  was  to  have  other  jolly  picnics  later  but  this 
happened  to  be  the  first  since  he  was  old  enough  to  take  an  active 
part  in  them.  We  went  to  the  Oil  and  Johnson  springs  on  a  gray, 
rocky  road  leading  down  into  Leatherwood  valley,  and,  after  we 
had  unpacked  the  provisions  carried  there  on  Peter  Pan's  back 
and  tied  him,  we  collected  dry  wood  and  built  a  fire  on  a  rock. 
Breckie  helped  in  gathering  the  wood,  and  then  lit  the  fire  him- 
self, his  hands  trembling  with  eagerness.     We  broiled  a  steak. 


BRECKIE  79 

heated  some  ready  cooked  string  beans  and  made  coffee.  Breck 
had  his  share  of  the  steak  and  beans,  his  cup  of  milk  and  plenty 
of  brown  bread  and  butter.  Then  he  fed  the  dogs  and  gave 
the  left  over  salt  to  the  donkey.  Afterwards  he  played  in  the 
water  from  the  spring  as  it  danced  over  the  stones  and  added 
another  happy  day  to  the  bounty  mother  nature  had  ever  in 
store  for  him. 

When  we  first  returned  to  Eureka  Springs  we  found  that  our 
friends  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Phillips  had  a  baby  girl,  just  three  days 
old,  whose  godmother  I  became  and  who  was  given  my  name. 
Breck  and  I  saw  much  of  her  and  to  him  as  well  as  to  me  she 
brought  up  the  remembrance  of  another  baby  we  could  neither 
of  us  forget.  When  she  came  to  spend  her  first  afternoon  with 
us  he  said  to  his  grandmother:  "Beckinwidge  has  a  'ittle  baby 
too.     God  is  taking  care  of  Beckinwidge's  baby." 

Sometimes,  in  fact  nearly  every  day,  he  used  to  talk  after  this 
fashion:  *'Beckinwidge  wants  his  'ittle  sister  to  play  wif  him. 
Beckinwidge  is  going  to  get  a  gweat  big  ladder  and  go  up  behind 
ze  stars  and  get  his  'ittle  sister  and  bwing  her  to  you,  Boppie. 
Beckinwidge  is  going  to  wite  his  'ittle  sister  a  wetter :  Dear  Sis- 
ter, come  back.    Beckinwidge's  'ittle  sister  is  wif  God." 

26 

In  the  reading  on  Child  Welfare,  which  I  had  pursued  in  a 
desultory  fashion  since  before  Breck  came,  I  chanced  this  par- 
ticular autumn  upon  Herbert  Spencer's  Education,  and  I  agree 
with  Dr.  Saleeby  that  this  classic  marks  an  epoch  in  the  personal 
development  of  any  one  who  first  reads  it.  Much  that  I  had 
been  conscious  of  but  dimly  in  striving  to  do  right  by  my  child  be- 
came thereafter  luminous  as  day.  I  turned  the  book  over  to  Dick 
who  was  similarly  impressed. 

We  found  after  we  had  returned  from  the  Brackens  that  Breck 
thought  Germans  were  dangerous  birds — doubtless  of  the  chicken 
hawk  variety.    He  was  shooting  Germans  with  a  stick  gun  one 


8o  BRECKIE 

day  and  Juliette  noticed  he  pointed  it  up  into  the  trees.  She 
asked  him  what  he  thought  Germans  were  and  he  replied 
promptly  "des  oiseaux."  She  explained  about  them  and  he  came 
rushing  to  me  shouting:  "Boppie,  les  Allemands  sont  des  gens 
comme  nous."  Whereupon  I  explained  as  simply  as  I  could 
how  in  the  matter  of  ideals  we  differed  as  widely  as  if  we  had 
really  been  of  different  species. 

At  about  this  time  he  said  to  Juliette,  respecting  the  absence 
for  a  few  days  of  his  father :  "JuHette,  son  pere  lui  a  fait  de  la 
peine.    II  est  alle  sur  le  gwand  twain  sans  lui." 

One  day  in  November  I  sang  to  Breckinridge.  "Dormez, 
dormez  ma  belle,  dormez,  dormez  tou jours." 

He  had  just  arisen  from  his  nap  and  looking  at  me  said  dis- 
consolately :    "Non,  il  ne  veut  pas  dormir  tou jours." 

A  negro  cook  at  Crescent  named  Jennie  taught  him  a  song 
she  often  sang,  and  the  way  in  which  he  sang  it  was  like  this : 

"Lord;  I  want  more  weligion, 
Weligion  makes  me  happy; 
I'm  weady  for  to  go — 
Leave  dis  world  ob  sowwow, 
Twoubles  here  below." 

An  old  verse  he  liked  me  to  repeat  to  him  in  the  early  morn- 
ing when  he  climbed  into  my  bed,  and  which  he  sometimes  re- 
peated himself,  ran  as  follows : 

"Seven  o'clock,  says  nurse  at  the  door, 

Kate  lifts  not  up  her  drowsy  head. 

Eight  o'clock,  says  nurse  once  more, 

But  Kate  is  still  in  bed. 

Nine  o'clock,  says  nurse  with  a  frown, 

Kate  opens  one  sleepy  eye. 

Ten  o'clock  and  Kate  comes  down. 

And  the  sun  is  in  the  sky. 

Alas  and  alas  when  the  day's  half  done 

Kate's  work  is  just  begun." 

He  was  quick  to  notice  any  change  in  familiar  songs  and 
rhymes.     I  used  to  sing  Cadet  Rouselle  "Que  pensez  vous  de 


BRECKIE  8i 

Cadet  Rouselle?'*  and  Breckie  corrected  me,  saying  it  was  "Que 
cwoyez  vous  de  Cadet  Wouselle?" 

Juliette  had  gotten  him  into  the  habit  of  folding  his  hands  at 
night  and  repeating  the  verse  she  taught  him  of  UAnge  Guardian, 
as  follows : 

"Veillez  sur  moi  quand  je  m'eveille, 

Bon  ange,  puis  que  Dieu  le  dit; 
Et  chaque  nuit  quand  je  someille 

Penchez — vous  sur  mon  petit  wit   (lit). 
Ayez  pitie  de  ma  faiblesse, 

A  mes  cotes  marchez  sans  cesse. 
Parlez-moi  le  long  du  chemin, 

Et,  pendant  que  je  vous  ecoute, 
De  peur  que  je  ne  tombe  en  woute  (route), 

Bon  ange,  donnez-moi  la  main." 

He  recited  this  with  the  sweetest  inflections,  but  gradually 
dropped  out  of  the  habit  of  making  it  a  part  of  his  nightly 
routine. 

I  now  had  Breckie  again  at  night,  as  Juliette  went  back  after 
his  bedtime  to  her  little  home  in  the  Dairy  Hollow.  As  winter 
set  in  he  began  sleeping  indoors  again  in  the  crib  next  my  bed, 
except  for  his  daily  naps  which  were  always  taken  outside.  Of 
course  the  large  windows  were  wide  open  in  our  bedroom  at 
night  and  the  atmosphere  breezy  and  cold,  but  Breck,  if  he 
happened  to  wake,  always  stuck  one  fat  hand  out  from  under  his 
covers  and  said,  in  a  smug  voice,  as  he  had  evidently  been  say- 
ing to  Juliette :  "Prenez  sa  main."  When  I  had  held  it  for  a 
moment  he  went  back  to  sleep. 

On  the  few  rare  occasions  when  I  went  out  in  the  evening 
after  he  had  gone  to  bed  my  mother  or  Juliette,  or  Florence  or 
**Camille"  would  sit  in  the  study  next  my  bedroom  with  closed 
doors  between  until  I  returned,  in  case  Breck  should  awaken 
and  need  something.  He  was  never  frightened  at  night,  indoors 
or  out,  but  if  he  awoke  he  called  out  from  sheer  sociability.  I 
never  left  the  place  in  the  evening  without  telling  him  before 
he  went  to  sleep  that  I  was  going  and  where,  and  who  would  be 
sitting  near  him  should  he  need  attention  in  my  absence.     This 


82  BRECKIE 

satisfied  him  and  he  did  not  object  either  to  my  going  or  the 
attentions  of  my  substitute  if  such  were  needed. 

He  still  remembered  his  terrible  fall  of  the  previous  summer, 
when  climbing  over  the  sides  of  his  bed,  and  when  I  suggested 
that  he  might  be  trusted  not  to  climb  over  again,  because  it  wasn't 
right,  he  added:  "And  he  would  bweak  his  bones,"  which  was 
quite  evidently  a  more  deterring  thought. 

On  those  afternoons  when  he  woke  from  his  nap  and  I  instead 
of  Juliette  went  out  to  his  balcony  to  take  him  up,  he  said,  almost 
invariably:  "Boppie,  are  you  going  to  take  care  of  him?"  and 
his  face  expanded  into  a  pleased  smile  when  I  said  that  I  was. 
That  his  smile  was  equally  as  pleased  when  Juliette  went  out 
I  freely  admit.  If  he  woke  up  a  little  sooner  than  usual  and  she 
or  I,  as  the  case  might  be,  questioned  him :  "Who  woke  Breckin- 
ridge ?"  he  generally  replied :  "It  was  Boweas" — "C'est  Boweas" 
— which  indeed  was  often  true.  He  liked  the  picture  of  the 
Sandman  by  Jessie  Wilcox  Smith  and  mingled  the  Sandman  in 
his  prattling  with  Boreas,  the  stars,  the  birds,  and  Jack  Frost. 
When  he  felt  sleepy  he  rubbed  his  eyes  and  said  that  the  Sand- 
man was  coming. 

Clifton  came  down  from  Cornell  to  be  with  us  at  Christmas. 
Breck  still  remembered  a  brief  visit  of  his  in  the  early  summer 
when  he  brought  the  big  gun  with  which  he  won  a  sharpshooter's 
medal  on  the  rifle  range.  Now  he  had  a  commission  in  the 
U.  S.  Reserves  besides  one  in  the  military  at  Cornell  and  Breck's 
interest  in  him  was  unbounded.  His  pride  in  being  like  a  sol- 
dier was  becoming  more  and  more  transmuted  with  the  passing 
months  into  the  sort  of  courage  that  had  made  him  take  willingly 
the  castor  oil.  We  taught  him  that  the  military  trappings  were 
symbolic  of  that  sort  of  courage — as,  at  their  highest,  they  are. 

Gifton  brought  him  a  jointed  wooden  dog  so  plainly  of 
the  Dachshund  variety  that  we  named  him  "Pilsener."  This  beast 
promptly  took  his  place  among  those  loved  playthings  of  Breckie's 
which  he  called  his  "cweatures." 

My  sister  Lees  was  also  with  us  this  Christmas,  but  Carson, 


BRECKIE 

Age  Two  Years  and  Ten  Months,  with  His  Grandfather,  Peter  Pan  and  Dixie 


i 


o  •      •    «•'  o 


BRECKIE  83 

off  in  Europe,  had  been  transferred  from  the  embassy  at  Petro- 
grad  to  the  post  of  naval  attache  for  the  Scandinavian  coun- 
tries and  could  share  only  in  thought  the  baby's  Christmas. 

We  felt  that  it  really  was  the  baby's  Christmas,  that  we 
wouldn't  have  had  the  heart  to  celebrate  it  otherwise.  Breck 
had  a  tree  again  and  sang  very  prettily  as  Juliette  had  taught 
him :  "Voici  Noel,  O  douce  nuit."  I  did  not  keep  a  list  of  his 
presents  this  year  and  recall  chiefly  those  still  in  our  posses- 
sion: a  climbing  monkey  and  a  small  iron  from  Juliette,  nine 
pins,  a  Panama  pile  driver,  a  fascinating  pair  of  riding  boots 
from  my  father,  a  rubber  swimming  man  for  his  bath,  a  metal 
donkey  from  his  Swiss  friend,  Mrs.  Jordan,  which  we  named 
"Cadichon"  after  the  donkey  in  "L'Histoire  d'un  Ane,"  and  which- 
survives  to-day  though  with  broken  legs,  a  top,  balls,  books,  and 
from  his  cousin  Foncie  a  wooden  duck  which  he  called  Jemima 
Puddleduck  after  the  heroine  of  the  book  of  that  name. 

This  year  Breckinridge  gave  a  present  himself  for  the  first  time. 
I  asked  him  if  he  wouldn't  like  to  give  one  to  his  father  and  the 
idea  pleased  him  immensely.  So  he  took  five  of  the  pennies  out 
of  his  bank  and  we  went  down  town  together  to  a  stationer's 
shop  where  toys  were  kept.  I  asked  the  clerk  to  put  a  row  of 
things  costing  only  five  cents  each  in  front  of  him  and  told 
Breck  that  his  pennies  would  buy  any  one  of  those  things  and  to 
choose.  He  was  fascinated  with  some  celluloid  creatures  such  as 
float  in  baths,  but  the  difficulty  lay  in  taking  only  one  when  he 
wanted  all. 

"Now,  Breckinridge,"  I  said,  "decide  which  you  want — the 
swan,  or  the  duck,  or  the  turtle,  or  the  fish." 

One  by  one  he  picked  them  up  gravely,  saying:  "De  swan 
and  de  duck  and  de  turtle  and  de  fish." 

At  least  he  chose  the  duck  and  bore  it  home  triumphantly.  The 
secret  was  kept  until  he  presented  it  to  his  delighted  father,  and 
then  of  course  he  had  it  afterwards,  loaned  by  father  upon  de- 
mand, to  play  with  in  his  bath. 

Many  things  at  one  time  or  another  shared  his  bath,  but  per- 
haps the  one  of  most  unfailing  interest  was  a  metal  log  cabin 
which  had  held  molasses,  given  him  by  the  neighbor  he  called 


84  BRECKIE 

Mrs.  "Rosy,"  and  from  the  chimney  of  which  he  could  pour  the 
water  in  and  out. 

28 

With  the  approach  of  the  New  iear  I  taught  Breckie  certain 
lines  of  Tennyson's  beginning : 

"Ring  out  wild  bells  to  the  wild  sky." 

He  delighted  in  them  and  in  playing  that  he  rang  the  bells. 
His  favorite  verse  was : 

"Ring  in  the  valiant  man  and  free, 
The  larger  heart,  the  kindlier  hand — 

Ring  out  the  darkness  in  the  land. 
Ring  in  the  Christ  that  is  to  be." 

Once  he  said  that  he  didn't  want  darkness  to  be  in  the  land. 
When  he  did  a  generous  action  I  told  him  his  was  the  larger 
heart,  the  kindlier  hand,  and  that  when  he  was  "bwave  like  a 
soldier"  he  became  a  valiant  man  and  free. 

Soon  after  New  Year's  in  the  space  of  one  week  we  had  the 
onset  of  three  serious  illnesses.  Juliette  fell  ill  and  had  to  have 
an  operation  and  after  that  caught  the  grip,  which  was  followed 
by  a  severe  neuritis.  I  kept  her  at  Crescent  where  I  could  take 
care  of  her,  and  her  sister  Blanche  came  down  from  St.  Louis 
to  help  me  both  with  her  and  with  Breck.  The  night  after  her 
operation  Dick  fell  down  the  elevator  shaft  and  when  found  was 
covered  with  blood,  clammy,  almost  pulseless,  and  injured  in 
many  ways  of  which  the  most  severe  proved  to  be  a  badly 
sprained  back.  Before  he  could  turn  himself  in  bed  unassisted 
Breck  caught  the  grip,  of  which  there  was  much  in  town,  and 
a  little  in  the  school,  and  for  several  days  anxiety  for  him  was 
added  to  my  other  cares.  He  was  only  sick  a  few  days,  but 
looked  a  bit  peaked  and  pulled  down  for  several  weeks  after- 
wards. 


FOURTH  YEAR 

And  Nature  the  old  Nurse  took 

The  child  upon  her  knee 
Saying,  "Here  is  a  story  book 

Thy  Father  hath  written  for  thee." 


And  he  wandered  away  and  away 

With  Nature  the  dear  old  Nurse, 
Who  sang  him  by  night  and  by  day 

The  rhymes  of  the  imiverse. 

—Longfellow. 


So  busy  was  I  with  ill  people  on  B reek's  third  birthday  that 
I  did  not  make  any  note  of  it  in  my  journal.  My  recollection 
is,  and  Juliette  confirms  it,  that  she,  my  husband,  and  Breck 
himself  were  all  too  down  and  out  for  any  celebration  except 
his -.presents  and  that  his  birthday  cake,  with  its  three  candles, 
was  made  by  Jennie,  presented  and  eaten  on  the  twenty-third 
of  tlie  month,  which  was  his  father's  birthday.  Breck's  cake  was 
a  simple  sponge,  covered  with  powdered  sugar,  but  Dick  had  a 
more  gorgeous  affair,  iced. 

For  some  days  after  his  illness  Breck  used  to  get  hungrier 
than  his  limited  convalescent  diet  could  satisfy.  One  day,  walk- 
ing in  the  woods  with  Blanche,  he  said,  addressing  promiscuously 
any  listening  birds : 

"Petits  oiseaux,  Beckinwidge  dois  vous  tuer.  II  n'aime  pas 
vous  tuer,  petits  oiseaux,  mais  sa  mere  ne  lui  donne  pas  assez  a 
manger." 

Several  weeks  after  Breckinridge's  attack  of  the  grip  had  dis- 
appeared he  was  troubled  with  a  swelling  in  the  glands  of  the 
neck — cervical  adenitis — which  had  finally  to  be  opened.  We 
explained  to  him.  Dr.  Phillips  and  I,  that  it  would  hurt,  but  not 
more  than  a  soldier  could  endure,  and  he  submitted  with  only 
a  moment's  wailing  when  the  scalpel  went  in.  The  wound  had 
to  be  dressed  and  bandaged  for  several  days  and  Breck's  neck 
was  exceptionally  well  swathed.  He  wore  anyway  on  bitter  days 
(pulled  up  over  his  knitted  cap)  a  Russian  **bashlik"  which  had 
been  mine  in  St.  Petersburg. 


After  his  third  birthday  Breck  gradually  began  to  speak  of 
himself  in  the  first  person,  with  frequent  lapses  for  awhile  into 

87 


88  BRECKIE 

the  third.  One  day  he  heard  it  repeated  that  a  woman  had 
whipped  her  boy,  and  he  said  to  me :  "You  wouldn't  whip  Beck- 
inwidge,  would  you,  Boppie  ?'* 

And  when  for  reply  I  caught  him  in  my  arms  and  said :  "No, 
my  blessing,  not  Boppie  nor  anybody  else  shall  ever  whip  my 
little  boy.  Boppie  thinks  that  is  cruel  and  wrong.  She  would 
fight  any  one  who  even  tried  to  do  it."  He  gave  me  a  proud 
confident  look  and  never  alluded  to  the  subject  again.  But 
months  afterwards  when  he  turned  the  pages  of  his  Volland 
edition  of  Mother  Goose  and  came  to  the  illustration  of  the  old 
woman  in  the  shoe  he  said : 

"She's  a  bad,  wicked  woman  to  whip  her  little  childwen. 
Don't  wead  about  her." 

At  about  this  time  he  began  inventing  nonsense  sounds,  and 
words  without  any  meaning — sometimes,  however,  using  them  as 
if  they  conveyed  a  meaning  to  him.  We  told  him  he  was  talking 
polyglot  and  he  used  the  expression  frequently  to  describe  his 
own  jargon.  Unfortunately  I  never  made  a  note  phonetically 
spelling  any  of  these  sounds  and  do  not  remember  them  accu- 
rately. Sometimes  he  used  one  in  a  sentence :  "He'  s  toocha." 
Sometimes  he  strung  a  lot  of  them  together  without  any  English 
or  French  mixed  in.  He  liked  to  do  this,  kept  it  up  all  through 
his  fourth  year,  and  seemed  proud  of  it. 

While  Juliette  lay  ill  with  us  he  often  ran  into  her  room  and, 
climbing  upon  her  bed,  made  her  the  sharer,  as  much  as  possible, 
of  his  thoughts  and  games.  We  three  played  "Le  Petit  Chaperon 
Rouge,"  Breckie  and  Juliette  talking  turns  at  being  the  wolf.  She 
was  reading  a  book  called  "L'Enfant  des  Bois,"  when  con- 
valescent, with  startling  pictures  in  it  of  an  ourang  outang,  and 
Breckie  was  full  of  eager  interest  over  "le  gwand  singe." 

Towards  spring  we  passed  on  our  walks,  near  an  old  stable, 
(where  Breckie  loved  to  go  because  of  the  friendly  horse,  the 
cows,  and  sometimes  the  sheep  we  found  there)  a  small  boy  who 
called  himself  "W.  P."  He  was  a  good-natured,  agreeable  small 
boy  several  years  Breck's  senior  and  inspired  in  the  latter's  breast 
a  profound  though  fleeting  admiration.  At  this  time  when 
Breckie  climbed  into  my  bed  in  the  early  morning  he  was  apt  to 


BRECKIE  89 

say,  with  an  air  of  stating  all  things  needful,  "Dis  is  W.  P." 
He  then  asked  me:  "Who  is  dis?"  I  invented  a  name  to  give 
tone  to  the  game:  "Algernon  Fitzgerald."  Breck  pronounced 
it  with  difficulty  but  played  the  game  often. 

Later  he  became  fond  of  being  a  rabbit  called  "Bwight  Eyes" 
and  I  was  "Bobtail."  His  father,  when  present,  was  "Long 
Ear."  Bright  Eyes  and  Bobtail  were  usually  put  to  it  to  escape 
the  clutches  of  the  fox,  the  same  fox  who  nearly  got  Jemima 
Puddleduck  and  figured  in  another  Peter  Rabbit  book  as  Mr. 
Todd.  We  dived  into  our  holes  under  the  bedclothes,  sneaking 
out  occasionally  to  find  carrots  and  then  eating  them  with  much 
munching  and  nibbling. 

When  Juliette  was  able  to  get  up  and  go  about  she  and  Blanche 
went  down  to  her  house  in  the  Dairy  Hollow  and  for  several 
weeks,  while  she  was  recovering  her  strength,  I  took  care  of 
Breckie  alone,  neglecting  the  other  things  I  had  to  do  pretty 
much.  We  often  went  down  to  the  Dairy  Hollow  for  the  after- 
noon and  Breckie  worked  at  "piocher"  as  he  and  Juliette  called 
his  attacking  of  the  wintry  garden  with  a  pick,  or  he  fed  the 
chickens  and  ducks  or  piled  stove  wood  on  the  porch.  I  re- 
member seeing  him  poking  into  the  dog  kennel  with  a  long  stick 
and  a  moment  later  here  he  came  running  to  us,  exclaiming: 
"O,  Juliette,  Queenie  a  pondu  un  oeuf ."  Sure  enough  there  lay  a 
hen's  tgg  on  the  straw  of  the  dog's  bed.  Queenie  was  Juliette's 
dog,  very  gentle,  and  Breckie's  stanch  friend. 

Breckinridge  laid  claim  to  many  of  the  live  creatures  at 
Juliette's  place,  notably  at  this  time  to  a  black  and  white  duck, 
which  unfortunately  it  became  necessary  for  the  Carnis  to  eat. 
How  Breck  got  wind  of  it  we  did  not  know,  but  he  came  run- 
ning to  Juliette  in  tears  and  saying:  "Juliette,  vous  n'avez  pas 
manger  mon  canard!"  He  was  young  enough  to  be  soon  con- 
soled with  another  duck,  a  brown  one  with  black  stripes. 

He  learned  a  little  poem  this  spring  which  he  loved  to  recite : 

"Petite  poule,  la  blanchette, 
Tu  connais  la  vieille  Lison — 
Notre  voisine  est  si  pauvre, 
Pond  pour  elle,  c'est  la  saison. 


90  BRECKIE 

Viens  deposer  chaque  matin 
Un  petit  oeuf  devant  sa  porte — 
La  bonne  femme  n'est  plus  forte 
Pour  gagner  un  morceau  de  pain. 
Petite  poule,  ecoute  encore — 
Le  bon  Dieu  te  benira." 

He  liked  me  to  recite  the  rhyme  of  the  Jabberwocky  for  him, 
and  a  favorite  Mother  Goose  rhyme  of  this  period  was  the  fol- 
lowing : 

"Leg  over  leg  the  dog  went  to  Dover; 
When  he  came  to  a  stile,  jump,  he  went  over." 

A  French  song  which  he  learned  this  spring  and  to  which  he 
was  much  attached  ran  like  this: 

*'Le  petit  bossu  s'en  va  au  lait, 

II  n'y  va  jamais  sans  son  petit  pot. 

Arrive  chez  la  laitiere, 

Tout  en  faisant  ces  petites  manieres — 

(Here  he  shook  his  little  body  from  side  to  side  as  Juliette 
had  taught  him.) 

"Donnez-moi  du  lait, 
Viola  mon  petit  pot! 
Non,  non  je  n'ai  jamais  vu 
D'aussi  resolu  que  le  petit  bossu. 
Non,  non  je  n'ai  jamais  vu 
D'aussi  resolu  que  le  petit  bossu. 

"Le  petit  bossu  s'en  va  au  pain, 

II  n'y  va  jamais  sans  son  panier. 

Arrive  chez  la  boulangere. 

Tout  en  faisant  ses  petites  manieres — 

*Donnez-moi  du  pain,  voila  mon  panier,'  etc. 

"Le  petit  bossu  sans  va  promener, 

II  n'y  va  jamais  sans  ses  papiers. 

Arrive  chez  la  frontiere, 

Tout  en  faisant  ses  petites  manieres — 

*Laissez-moi  passer,  voila  mes  papiers,'  etc." 


BRECKIE  91 


The  first  of  every  month  that  winter  and  spring  we  took  up 
a  collection  in  the  school  for  the  Belgian  Babies'  relief  fund. 
We  added  to  it  whatever  funds  the  townspeople  cared  to  con- 
tribute too  and  did  what  we  could  to  stimulate  such  contributions 
by  placards,  notices  in  the  papers,  and  an  occasional  public  talk. 
The  sum  was  always  a  small  one  (for  people  had  not  learned  to 
give  as  they  are  doing  now),  made  up  mostly  of  nickels,  dimes, 
and  quarters — but  it  afforded  an  outlet  for  those  who  either  could 
not,  or  felt  that  they  could  not,  give  much  at  any  one  time. 
Liliane  gave  a  little  every  month  and  I  asked  Breckie  if  he  did 
not  want  to  contribute  five  of  his  pennies.  Naturally  enough  it 
pleased  him  and  of  course  meant  no  sacrifice  whatever — not  like 
the  benefactions  of  "Mrs.  Pardigle's  Young  Family"  in  Bleak 
House,  over  whom  I  laugh  and  cry  to  this  day.  On  the  contrary, 
next  to  putting  the  pennies  in  his  bank  Breck's  greatest  pleasure 
in  saving  was  to  take  them  out.  But  I  think  that  he  did  grasp  in 
a  young  way  the  thought  of  other  little  children  like  himself 
without  cribs,  warm  milk,  mittens  and  sweaters  and  things  with 
which  to  play.  He  grasped  too  in  a  dim  fashion  the  responsi- 
bility devolving  upon  us  to  give  up  a  measure  of  our  sheltered 
lives  to  them.  He  had  a  generous  heart  and  was  ever  ready  to 
give  or  share  whatever  he  possessed  with  any  one — if  only  they 
said  please  and  didn't  "gwab."  He  was  a  stickler  even  then 
as  to  his  rights  and  if  he  found  one  of  us  making  use  of  his  pos- 
sessions without  his  permission  he  would  repeat  the  same  expres- 
sion we  made  use  of  in  rebuking  him:  "You  didn't  ask."  But 
sometimes  he  heaped  coals  of  fire  by  saying  with  sweetness: 
"You  can  have  my  scissors  (or  my  tway,  or  my  cup) — ^you  can." 
I  never  knew  him,  when  requested,  to  refuse  an  immediate  loan  of 
anything  he  had  and  he  always  looked  pleased  and  often  a  bit 
proud  in  granting  the  request. 

Breckinridge's  savings  account  began  soon  after  he  was  born 
with  a  five  dollar  gold  piece  from  his  Aunt  Lees.  We  gave  him 
the  pennies  that  came  our  way  and  the  ten  per  cent  profits  from 
the  long  distance  telephone  booth  in  the  institution.    That  was  his 


92        '  BRECKIE 

income,  which  was  supplemented  by  an  occasional  gift  from 
grandfather  or  grandmother.  He  was  not  allowed  to  receive 
money  from  any  one  outside  the  immediate  family.  He  had  an 
account  at  the  bank  and  whenever  his  savings  totaled  a  dollar  he 
went  himself  with  Juliette  or  me  to  the  bank,  carrying  his  own 
deposit  book,  and  handed  both  over  to  the  cashier,  saying :  "Mr. 
McCwowy,  here  are  my  pennies.*' 

He  had  nearly  fifty  dollars  saved  at  the  time  of  the  first 
Liberty  Loan  bond  sale  and  bought  his  own  Liberty  bond.  His 
grandmother  presented  him  with  another  and,  at  the  second  sale, 
his  father  gave  him  two  more.  He  had  no  conception  of  the 
meaning  of  any  of  this,  but  he  did  share  in  the  patriotism  of  us 
all.  Little  child  though  he  was  I  protest  that  he  did  understand 
that.  We  talked  often  to  him  of  his  country  and  told  him  that, 
next  to  God,  his  country  had  the  first  claim  on  him — a  claim 
immeasurably  greater  than  his  father's  and  mine.  Strangers  were 
surprised  sometimes  when  they  asked  him:  "To  whom  do  you 
belong?"  to  hear  his  quick  response:  "To  God  and  my  coun- 
twy." 

We  told  him  that  he  would  have  to  decide  for  himself  when 
he  grew  older  what  he  wanted  to  do  for  a  livelihood,  and  he  often 
said  that  he  would  be  a  soldier.  This  was  natural  enough  con- 
sidering the  times  we  lived  in.  But  I  explained  to  him  that  being 
a  soldier  wasn't  necessarily,  for  every  man,  a  calling  in  itself, 
that  he  could  be  something  else  for  every  day  and  still  be  a  sol- 
dier too — so  that  if  his  country  needed  him  he  could  defend 
her.  To  help  him  to  grasp  the  idea  of  what  his  country  was,  to 
make  the  idea  tangible,  I  told  him  that  the  trees  and  ground 
and  rocks  all  about  him  were  a  part  of  his  dear  land.  These  he 
knew  and  loved  already,  and,  though  of  course  he  could  not  love 
his  country  as  he  loved  us,  I  believe  nevertheless  that  he  wished 
to  serve  her,  and  that  he  knew  he  was  first  of  all  her  son. 

As  he  grew  further  into  his  fourth  year  I  sometimes  led  the 
conversation,  when  we  were  alone  together,  to  the  subject  of 
other  duties  he  owed  the  nation  besides  those  of  defense.  Ever 
since  I  became  a  trained  nurse  the  question  of  neglected  chil- 
dren had  troubled  my  heart,  and  after  motherhood  came  to  me 


BRECKIE  93 

the  sight  of  undernourished  or  misunderstood  children  was  of- 
tentimes intolerable.  I  did  what  I  could,  of  course,  in  my  own 
environment,  but  the  thought  was  ever  present  with  me  that  in 
rearing  Breckinridge  I  was  doing  far  more  than  my  puny  services 
could  ever  accomplish  had  I  devoted  them  to  nothing  but  Child 
Welfare.  I  felt  that  he,  with  his  larger  intellect  and  heroic  cast 
of  mind,  could  get  at  the  causes  of  things,  when  he  grew  up, 
and  rectify  them.  Even  his  sociability  and  charm  of  manner 
would  help,  so  I  thought,  in  bringing  facts  before  others  and 
securing  co-operation.  Where  I  could  only  have  helped  a  little 
here  and  there  he,  in  his  manhood  a  leader  of  men,  would  strike 
at  the  roots  of  poverty,  ignorance,  and  vice  and  rescue  child- 
hood— sacrificed  from  countless  ages  to  these  three  evil  gods. 

I  began  to  talk  to  him  about  it  a  little.  I  sometimes  said: 
"Breckinridge,  there  are  little  children  without  beds  to  sleep 
on,  without  milk  to  drink,  without  trees  to  play  under."  At 
once  he  replied:  **I  will  buy  dem  beds" — or  else:  "Boppie, 
buy  dem  beds."  Then  I  explained  that  we  hadn't  but  a  very 
little  money  for  that — and  I  often  said:  "But  when  you  are 
a  man,  Breckinridge,  you  will  learn  how  to  help  the  little  chil- 
dren and  you  won't  let  them  be  hungry  and  cold." 

The  students  at  Crescent  had  a  big  Christmas  tree  every  year 
for  nearly  a  hundred  poor  children  in  the  town  and  adjacent 
country  and  to  this  Breck  gave  some  of  his  toys.  But  I  did  not 
tell  him  the  children  were  poor.  I  was  anxious  to  avoid  even 
a  suggestion  of  condescension — to  let  him  grasp  as  early  as  his 
mind  could  the  fact  that  they  were  not  so  responsible  for  their 
circumstances  as  were  we  who  permitted  such  distresses,  and 
that  the  things  they  lacked  should  come  to  them  as  a  right  and 
not  as  a  charity.  He  gave  to  his  guests,  his  equals.  He  was  too 
young  for  me  to  suggest  more  than  that. 

4 

In  March  there  occurred  an  incident  I  made  use  of  later  in  an 
article  on  "The  Child's  Point  of  View."  Breckinridge  came  to 
me  one  day  with  my  hot  water  bottle  in  which  he  had  stuck  a 
pin,  saying:    "See,  I  can  get  de  water  out  wifout  taking  out  de 


94  BRECKIE 

stopper."  I  did  not,  of  course,  blame  him  for  this  discovery — 
which  was  an  achievement  from  his  point  of  view — but  I  knew 
that  the  logical  moment  had  arrived  for  explaining  to  him  the 
nature,  use,  and  limitations  of  hot  water  bottles,  and  so  I  showed 
him  how  he  had  spoiled  the  bottle,  which  couldn't  be  used  any 
more  because  it  would  leak  and  wet  his  bed.  I  further  reminded 
him  that  the  only  other  one  we  had  was  metal  and  he  didn't  like 
it,  but  that  now  he  would  have  to  use  it  since  there  was  no  other. 
He  understood  perfectly  and  that  night,  when  a  cold  March  wind 
whistled  over  his  bed  and  I  tucked  in  the  metal  bottle,  he  accepted 
it  without  a  protest,  remarking  only  upon  how  hard  he  found  it. 
Even  at  three  his  reason  was  so  well  developed  that  if  he  under- 
stood a  thing,  apprehending  it  as  logical,  that  was  nearly  always 
enough. 

Of  course  I  do  not  mean  that  he  did  not  occasionally  fret  or 
cry  in  that  disorganized  way  of  the  very  young.  But  there  was 
always  a  physiological  cause  such  as  fatigue,  sleepiness,  a  de- 
layed dinner,  a  fall,  not  getting  outdoors  promptly — and  he 
fretted  rarely  because  we  protected  his  immaturity,  and  rarely  in- 
deed was  there  any  delay  or  break  in  the  wholesome  routine  of 
his  daily  life.  When  he  did  cry  unreasonably  we  did  not  attempt 
explanations,  only  sought  to  remedy  the  cause  of  his  loss  of 
self-control.  We  had  learned  that  an  occasional  loss  of  control 
is  to  be  expected,  is  normal  with  even  the  most  cherished  little 
children,  and  we  were  tender  with  him.  If  sometimes  we  failed 
in  our  endeavor  and  were  impatient  we  begged  his  pardon — ^but 
ready  as  we  were  to  acknowledge  ourselves  in  the  wrong  we 
couldn't  keep  pace  with  him,  for  a  sweeter  or  more  generous 
spirit  was  never  born  and  his  "excuse  me — I'm  sowy"  came 
unsought  when  he  knew  he  had  offended  or  trampled  on  the 
rights  of  others.  He  never  bore  a  grudge  five  minutes  against 
any  one — and  indeed  had  no  occasion  to,  for  none  wittingly  in- 
fringed upon  his  rights  or  coerced  his  will. 

5 
When  Juliette  had  regained  her  norma,  strength  she  resumed 
the  care  of  her  nursling  and  at  about  that  time  moved  to  an- 


BRECKIE  95 

other  cottage  across  the  road  from  her  old  one  in  Dairy  Hollow. 
This  second  home  of  hers  entered  into  the  very  fibers  of  Breckin- 
ridge's life,  for  he  spent  nearly  every  afternoon  there  and  a 
morning  now  and  then.  It  is  a  picturesque  little  house,  set  in  a 
garden  behind  flowering  shrubs  and  separated  from  the  road  by 
a  stone  wall  and  picket  fence.  At  the  back  was  a  good  vege- 
table garden  and  space  to  one  side  for  the  pigs,  chickens,  Bel- 
gian hares,  and  bees  which  formed  part  of  the  establishment. 
There  was  also  a  field  of  corn,  and,  just  outside  the  property, 
a  fragrant  pine  grove.  A  wooded  mountain  rose  straight  up 
at  the  back. 

Breck  had  his  own  garden  plot  which  he  worked  and  planted 
himself  and  from  which  he  gathered  a  few  sickly  beans  and  a 
handful  of  potatoes.  Two  of  the  latter  were  large  enough  to  be 
baked  and  eaten  for  his  dinner.  His  pride  and  delight  when  he 
brought  them  back  to  me  in  the  early  autumn  fairly  irradiated 
his  dirty  face.  He  nearly  always  came  in  with  dirty  face  and 
hands  and,  though  he  had  many  suits  and  usually  put  clean 
ones  on  twice  a  day  (on  arising  in  the  morning  and  again  after 
his  bath  and  nap),  he  never  looked  clean  very  long.  He  was  not 
bothered  about  his  clothes.  They  were  all  washable,  chosen 
for  their  comfort  primarily,  and  in  summer  consisted  of  only 
underwaist  and  drawers  and  a  low  neck,  short-sleeved  romper, 
with  sandals  and  socks — which  he  took  oflF  whenever  he  felt  like 
it.  So  far  from  interrupting  his  happy  play  with  reminders  of 
soiling  or  tearing  his  clothes,  I  should  have  been  disappointed 
had  he  stayed  clean  long  at  a  time,  because  I  should  have  been 
fearful  that  he  was  not  as  spontaneously  active  as  he  might 
have  been. 

On  the  way  down  to  Dairy  Hollow  by  the  shortest  cut  we 
passed  through  an  abandoned  park  called  Auditorium  Park.  The 
Auditorium  had  been  torn  down  and  the  grounds  given  over  to 
cows,  except  for  one  bit  where  stood  the  car  bam,  in  which 
lodged  the  funny  little  street  cars  that  made  the  tour  from  the 
station  to  the  top  of  the  mountain  nearly  every  hour  in  winter 
(except  on  slippery  days)  and  in  summer  at  twenty-minute  inter- 
vals.    In  this  park  was  the  Dairy  spring,  arranged  to  come  out 


96  BRECKIE 

of  a  sort  of  pump,  and  Breckie  rarely  passed  it  without  pump- 
ing the  handle  and  ducking  his  rosy  face  under  the  spout  for  a 
drink.  He  had  a  special  fondness  for  the  springs,  those  per- 
petually flowing  like  the  Harding,  turned  on  by  a  faucet  like  the 
Grotto,  or  worked  by  a  pump  as  is  the  Dairy,  and  he  loved  to  stop 
and  drink  whenever  he  passed  one. 

In  addition  to  the  Dairy  spring  the  Auditorium  Park  held  other 
attractions,  notably  several  long  ropes  terminating  in  loops  or 
knots  and  swung  from  the  limbs  of  tall  oaks.  Breck  delighted 
in  gripping  the  knotted  end  of  one  of  these  ropes,  taking  a  run- 
ning start  and  swinging  off  into  space  above  where  the  ground 
sloped  off.  He  had  a  firm  grip  and  the  adventure  of  the  thing 
appealed  to  him  mightily. 

I  had  constructed  for  him  in  the  grounds  of  Crescent  College 
near  his  sand  pile  a  slide,  trapeze,  swing,  see-saw,  and  jumping 
board.  All  this  apparatus  was  designed  and  made  by  the  house- 
man on  the  place,  Joe  Morris,  himself  a  father  and  child  lover. 
The  slide  gave  the  most  pleasure.  Breckie  sometimes  spent 
twenty  minutes  or  more  at  a  time  in  climbing  up  the  ladder  at 
the  back  of  it  and  then  joyously  sliding  down  the  polished  sur- 
face in  front.  This  apparatus  attracted  other  little  children  in 
the  neighborhood  older  than  Breckie  but  friendly  with  him,  and 
especially  Juliette  and  Mary  Gertrude  Franche.  In  the  summer 
when  the  Crescent  was  again  turned  over  to  a  manager  and 
became  a  hotel,  the  children  on  the  place  reveled  in  all  these 
appliances. 

6 

We  did  not  make  an  end  of  sickness  that  year  until  spring. 
A  dear  uncle  of  mine  came  on  a  visit  and  fell  ill  with  a  neuriti^ 
which  kept  him  in  bed  for  several  weeks.  Breck  enjoyed  running 
into  his  room  once  or  twice  a  day  or  stopping  by  his  bedside  for 
the  humorous,  playful  talk  with  which  this  great-uncle  diverted 
him.  His  friend  Camille  was  also  ill  and  when  she  got  con- 
valescent I  moved  her  to  my  apartments,  where  Breckie  climbed 
up  on  her  bed  with  his  toys  whenever  he  was  in  the  house. 
After  she  had  gone  home  for  a  few  weeks'  rest  she  sent  him  at 


BRECKIE  97 

Easter  a  box  of  rabbits  and  chickens  with  one  long-tailed  roos- 
ter. He  played  with  these  happily  for  a  few  days  and  then 
I  gathered  them  up  and  put  them  away.  Several  weeks  later  he 
suddenly  asked  for  them. 

"Dose  fings  I  had,  you  know,  what  Camille  sent  me — fings  wid 
a  wooster  .  .  ."  he  said.  After  he  had  played  with  them  again 
they  were  once  more  set  aside  and  this  time  he  forgot  them  and 
it  was  I  who  brought  them  out  one  day  when  other  more  usual 
playthings  had  palled.  Clothespins  of  two  varieties,  the  more 
unusual  kind  discovered  and  presented  by  his  great-uncle,  were 
satisfying  toys  with  him  this  spring. 


When  the  dandelion  season  came  in  March  Breckie,  who  liked 
greens  of  all  kinds,  went  out  every  day  with  Juliette  digging 
them.  He  brought  in  the  leaves  and  stems  for  salads  for  us, 
presenting  them  proudly  with:  "Dere,  Boppie."  Some  were 
cooked  for  his  dinner.  It  pleased  him  to  eat  things  in  the  pro- 
viding of  which  he  had  had  a  part.  Later  in  the  year  he 
frequently  supplied  his  own  vegetables,  gathering  beans  or  okra 
or  greens  himself.  Sometimes  he  worked  diligently  for  half  an 
hour  and  then  again  his  interest  died  out  before  the  task  was 
done  and  he  began  playing  at  something  else.  When  the  dande- 
lions bloomed  he  brought  me  the  blossoms,  and  when  many  of 
them  were  just  white  puff  balls  in  the  grass  I  drew  his  attention 
to  the  plant — its  leaves  such  as  he  had  eaten,  its  yellow  flowers  he 
had  picked,  and  the  flyaway  seeds  he  blew  from  his  hand — 
"souffler  la  lampe,"  Juliette  said  they  called  it  in  Switzerland.  I 
explained  as  best  I  could  its  life  cycle  and  he  listened  atten- 
tively. 

He  took  the  liveliest  interest  in  Juliette's  setting  hens  and  great 
was  his  delight  when  she  lifted  one  and  let  him  see  the  newly 
hatched  chicks.  She  even  put  one  egg  against  his  ear  and  let  him 
hear  the  pecking  of  the  little  creature  about  to  break  its  way 
through.  This  intimate  knowledge  of  the  hatching  of  little 
chicks  bred  a  tenderness  in  him  quite  different  from  the  destruc- 


98  BRECKIE 

tive  tendencies  natural  to  him  until  he  understood.  Only  the 
summer  before,  about  the  time  Juliette  first  took  charge  of  him, 
when  he  was  two  and  a  half  years  old,  he  had  rushed  at  one  of 
her  newly  hatched  Brahmas  and  stamped  the  life  out  of  it.  Then 
when  Juliette  sat  him  down  at  a  distance  and  told  him  he  had 
killed  the  chick  his  only  reply  was :  "Let  him  kill  anudder  one." 
Upon  his  return  to  the  house  he  ran  to  me  with  an  account 
of  the  affair — but  after  I  had  talked  to  him  earnestly  about 
the  pain  little  chickens  could  suffer  and  how  wrong  it  was  wan- 
tonly to  destroy  life  he  was  "so'y"  and  never  tried  to  harm 
another  little  young  creature. 

A  few  hundred  yards  beyond  the  Crescent  grounds,  to  the 
right,  a  forest  began,  but  just  before  one  reached  it  stood  the 
house  of  those  good  neighbors  and  friends  Breck  called  "Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Rosy."  Their  stable  had  a  horse  for  a  weather  vane, 
and  piles  of  wood  lay  against  their  fence,  which  nobody  minded 
his  using  to  make  pig  pens,  criss  cross,  if  we  piled  it  back  again' 
carefully.  In  the  woodland  further  on  there  was,  this  spring, 
a  thrush's  nest  low  enough  for  him  to  see  when  we  tip-toed 
near  it.  In  dark  spots  under  the  trees  we  found  toadstools 
and  I  explained  to  him  how  poisonous  they  were.  Hereafter 
he  was  generally  the  first  to  call  attention  to  those  we  met  and 
uproot  them  with  a  stick. 

8 

From  Saturday,  April  twenty-eighth,  through  May  fifth  of 
nineteen  seventeen  we  put  on  a  big  celebration  of  Child  Welfare 
Week  in  the  town.  We  had  motion  picture  films  from  Wash- 
ington, magic  lantern  slides  from  New  York,  exhibits  of  various 
kinds  from  various  places,  baby  improvement  contests,  a  model 
baby  bath,  several  plays,  talks  by  specialists,  lullabys  played  on 
the  organ  or  sung.  Mother  Goose  rhymes  in  costume  and  other 
lighter  pieces — all,  except  the  motion  picture  films,  in  the  Cres- 
cent chapel.  We  also  had  special  services  in  the  churches  and 
the  Saturday  before  began  with  a  parade  under  the  direction  of 
the  Boy  Scouts  and  a  committee  of  Crescent  students.     It  was 


BRECKIE  99 

really  a  pretty  parade.  All  the  school  children  in  town  took 
part  in  costumes  representing  the  childhood  of  many  nations, 
and  the  Crescent  students  went  as  babies  and  nursemaids,  negro 
mammies  and  anything  else  their  fancies  hit  upon.  Other  people 
took  part,  many  banners  with  striking  mottos  were  flaunted,  and 
the  whole  thing  was  headed  by  Uncle  Sam  and  Columbia  in  an 
automobile  carrying  a  baby — Dr.  Phillips'  lovely  little  daughter, 
my  godchild. 

Breckinridge  rode  in  this  parade  on  Peter  Pan  attended  by 
Juliette  and  me,  and  I  felt  in  looking  at  his  splendid  body  and 
brilliant  color,  his  noble  head  and  happy  face,  as  he  rode  by  on 
his  donkey  that  nothing  I  could  ever  teach  or  write  or  talk  on 
Child  Welfare  would  ever  make  an  impression  equal  to  the  ap- 
pearance of  my  little  son.  I  thought:  "I  am  busy  with  small 
beginnings  locally.  You  will  carry  on  large  conclusions  nation- 
ally; and  even  now  the  best  of  all  I  do  is  through  you." 

An  incident  happened  at  this  parade  which  both  touched  and 
amused  my  mother  and  me.  Breck  had  never  forgotten  Mammy. 
A  picture  of  Taylor's  Southern  Girl  and  Her  Mammy  hung  over 
his  indoor  crib  and  he  often  said  it  was  Boppie  with  Mammy. 
She  had  sent  us  this  spring  a  big  flour  sack  full  of  greens  from 
her  own  garden  and  no  one  among  us  enjoyed  them  more  than 
Breck.  In  the  parade  his  eyes  fell  upon  a  Crescent  student 
blackened  with  charcoal,  stuffed  out  with  pillows,  and  dressed 
like  an  old-fashioned  colored  nurse.  He  went  up  to  her  at  once 
and  said  with  his  charming  smile :  "Fank  you  Mammy  for  dose 
gweens." 

Breckie  surprised  his  father  one  day  this  spring  by  announc- 
ing at  the  breakfast  table,  when  he  heard  his  elders  discussing 
honey :  "I'm  going  to  have  some  weal  countwy  honey."  He  had 
walked  with  me  out  to  a  farm  house  to  look  for  it,  but  it  was 
not  until  late  summer  that  we  located  honey  at  a  place  in  town 
where  a  woman  kept  a  few  bee  hives.  Breckie  did  enjoy  going 
after  it  with  Juliette  and  bringing  it  home  in  the  comb.  He  had 
plum  and  blueberry,  grape  and  apple  jellies  also,  put  up  as  the 
fruits  came  in  season  by  Mrs.  Jordan  and  Juliette  for  his  winter 
rations.    His  dessert  at  dinner  was  often  a  little  country  honey 


loo  BRECKIE 

or  home  made  jelly  on  his  brown  bread.  He  knew  very  well  the 
source  of  each  product,  saying  that  the  bees  made  the  honey  and 
Juliette  the  jellies  out  of  fruits  and  sugar. 

Juliette,  Liliane,  a  neighbor  of  hers,  Breck  and  I  picked  lots 
of  blueberries  when  the  season  came  on.  He  liked  to  know  that 
those  he  picked  were  going  into  his  jellies  and  he  was  entirely 
trustworthy  about  not  eating  them  raw.  But  sometimes  he  came 
to  one  or  another  of  us  with  several  berries  clutched  in  his  hot 
little  palm — offering  them.  Incidentally  we  amassed  ticks  in  the 
woods  as  well  as  berries  and  Breckie  became  fairly  expert  at 
locating  those  on  his  own  person. 

In  this  his  fourth  year  he  noticed  that  his  diet  differed  in 
many  ways  from  ours,  but  my  explanations  as  to  certain  things 
not  being  good  for  him  sufficed.  He  had  never  known  any 
other  way  but  the  quiet  serving  of  his  food  at  regular  hours 
and  so  ate  it  without  questioning  and  with  a  large  appetite.  One 
day  when  the  strawberries  were  coming  in,  as  he,  Juliette  and 
I  were  walking  together  up  the  mountain  road  the  other  side  of 
Dairy  Hollow,  he  asked  us:  "Est  ce  que  les  fwaises  (f raises) 
sont  bon  pour  moi?"  That  was  always  his  way  of  putting  an 
inquiry  about  foods  he  heard  discussed  but  had  never  tasted :  "Is 
dat  good  for  me  ?" 

Although  of  course  his  diet  excluded  many  things  unsuited  to 
his  years  it  also  included  the  special  dishes  that  were  "good  for 
little  boys"  and  he  knew  that  we  went  to  any  lengths  to  secure 
these  for  him.  Did  not  the  hens  he  personally  knew  lay  his 
morning  egg  in  even  the  coldest  weather  when  eggs  were  so 
scarce  that  grown  people  went  without?  Did  not  Mr.  Ripply's 
cows  give  him  a  quart  bottle  of  milk  every  day  ?  Even  his  bread, 
made  from  specially  ground  flour,  was  specially  baked  for  him 
because  the  baker's  bread  and  the  hot  table  breads  were  "not 
good  enough"  for  him.  He  helped  too  in  gathering  and  stringing 
the  tenderest  of  the  beans — for  such  only  could  make  part  of  his 
dinner.  Many  were  the  things  to  eat  "good"  for  him  and  he 
took  a  normal  interest  in  each  addition  to  his  dietary. 

His  pleasure  over  the  ripe  peaches  he  was  allowed  this  sum- 
mer and  the  slices  of  uncooked  apple  in  the  autumn — the  deli- 


BRECKIE>.    ;  ^ ^   .,         ^^ 

cious  peaches  and  apples  of  our  Ozark  mountains— were  only 
equaled  by  that  with  which  he  greeted  crisp  bacon  the  first  time 
we  gave  it  to  him.  Juliette  occasionally  made  him  little  flat  tea 
cakes  she  called  "bricelets" — such  as  I  had  never  seen  before 
and  made  in  a  special  iron  Mrs.  Jordan  had  brought  from  Swit- 
zerland. Breckinridge  loved  them  and  when  he  brought  back 
a  sack  full  from  the  Dairy  Hollow  to  put  in  the  glass  jar  in  the 
Milk  room  he  sometimes  came  to  me  to  tell  me  Juliette  had  made 
them  for  him,  adding :    "Wasn't  dat  kind  of  her  ?" 


When  tbe  warm  weather  had  definitely  settled  in  and  Breckie 
was  sleeping  outside  all  night  again  he  got  into  the  trying  habit 
of  climbing  out  of  bed  as  soon  as  he  was  left  alone  and  of 
making  raids  on  my  various  possessions,  carrying  the  booty 
back  to  bed  with  him  to  examine  at  his  leisure.  Sometimes  I 
came  up  from  supper  to  discover  his  crib  littered  with  the  contents 
of  my  portfolio  or  work  basket  and  once,  in  addition  to  the  usual 
loot,  I  found  two  American  flags,  a  dish  of  prunes,  and  a  raised 
umbrella.  I  remonstrated,  reasoned,  explained — ^but  the  exuber- 
ance of  his  spirits  was  at  that  stage  too  strong  for  reasoning. 
He  had  learned  to  let  down  the  sliding  side  of  his  outdoor  crib, 
so  I  tried  putting  him  back  in  the  indoor  one.  But  here  the  sides 
were  lower  and  he  climbed  over,  or  else  climbed  from  his  crib 
to  the  top  of  my  chest  of  drawers — taking  everything  he  found 
there.  Back  into  the  outdoor  crib  I  put  him,  tying  up  the  sliding 
side  with  a  rope.  But  he  was  a  far  more  agile  youngster  now 
than  he  had  been  the  year  before  at  the  time  of  that  disastrous 
fall,  and  scaled  the  high  sides  like  a  monkey — showing  me  with 
pride  how  he  got  up  and  over  and  slid  down. 

Not  for  worlds  would  I  have  punished  the  dauntless  spirit 
which  was,  I  felt,  going  to  lead  him  to  lofty  heights  some  day. 
But  I  racked  my  brains  for  some  measure  of  restraint  that 
would  keep  him  safe  in  bed  without  destroying  his  initiative. 
I  tried  tying  one  wrist  with  a  large,  soft  handkerchief  and  the 
other  end  of  the  handkerchief  to  the  bars  of  the  bed — slipping 


102.  .    .   ..      BRECKIE 

out  on  the  balcony  as  soon  as  he  fell  asleep  to  untie  it.  But  this 
fretted  him  and  prevented  his  turning  about  in  bed.  Finally  one 
night  just  after  supper  he  came  darting  out  onto  the  east 
veranda  clad  only  in  a  little  low-neck  shirt,  having  removed 
his  night  drawers  before  leaving  his  own  apartments.  The  hall 
leading  into  these  apartments  was  shut  off  by  a  fence  and  gate, 
made  by  Clifton  on  one  of  his  visits,  which  he  could  not  ordinar- 
ily open — but  he  had  gotten  through  by  taking  his  little  wicker 
chair  to  the  gate  and  climbing  up  on  it.  This  last  escapade 
stimulated  my  brain  and  I  sought  out  Joe  Morris  who  co- 
operated with  me  perfectly.  He  made  a  top  for  Breckie's  tall 
outdoor  crib  of  chicken  wire,  set  in  a  wooden  frame,  and  fastened 
it  securely  to  the  side  of  the  crib  next  the  stone  wall  of  the 
house.  When  the  crib  was  unoccupied  and  the  sliding  outer 
side  down,  this  top  lay  thrown  back  against  the  stone  wall, — 
but  when  Breck  had  gone  to  bed  and  the  side  was  up  the 
chicken  wire  came  down  like  a  roof  across  the  top  of  the  crib 
and  I  fastened  it  in  front  with  a  rope  fastener. 

This  device  was  open,  airy,  easy,  cheap,  and  absolutely  effec- 
tive. After  that  when  Breckie  was  put  to  bed  he  and  the  Teddy 
Bear,  who  always  slept  with  him,  had  the  range  of  a  generous- 
sized  crib  and  nothing  more.  Nobody  blamed  him,  nobody  was 
displeased — ^but  he  learned  that  the  restraint  was  to  stay  there 
until  he  could  be  trusted  to  go  to  bed  without  it,  and  that  it 
would  be  a  proud  day  for  his  mother  when  he  could  be  so 
honored.  As  a  matter  of  fact  this  particular  phase  of  his  passed 
in  a  few  weeks  and  I  was  glad  I  had  restrained  its  danger- 
ous aspects  without  crushing  the  gallant  spirit  which  because 
of  its  untrained  judgment,  and  only  because  of  that,  had  failed 
in  reliability.  By  the  end  of  the  summer  the  chicken  wire  top 
was  no  longer  in  use  and  it  was  never  needed  again.  After  that,, 
though  less  than  four  years  old  by  several  months,  Breck  could 
be  trusted  to  stay  in  his  bed  whenever  put  there  and  his  daring 
and  initiative  had  both  emerged  from  that  irresponsible  period 
unimpaired. 

He  liked  immensely  to  receive  our  congratulations  whenever  he 
had  made  a  moral  triumph — like  that  of  taking  the  castor  oil  in 


BRECKIE  103 

his  third  year.  All  through  his  fourth  year  the  occasions  for  our 
so  honoring  him  were  legion  and  when  he  knew  he  had  con- 
quered himself,  as  in  the  crib  episode,  he  was  apt  to  say :  "Con- 
gwatulation  me,  Boppie.  I  didn't  get  out  of  bed."  And,  to 
Juliette :    "Vous  pouvez  me  feliciter." 


10 

One  day  early  in  June,  in  that  delightful  mid-school  and  hotel 
season  of  our  domesticity,  Breckie  went  fishing.  I  heard  Dick 
and  my  father  with  others  planning  the  trip  to  the  reservoir  and 
suggested  to  Breck  that  we  go  out  there  too,  a  little  later,  and 
fish  with  them.  It  was  a  matter  of  two  miles  or  more  out  of 
town  and  we  took  Peter  Pan,  Breckinridge  riding  him  some- 
times and  leading  him  sometimes  but  oftenest  running  on  ahead 
or  lagging  behind  as  he  liked  to  do — while  I  led  the  donkey. 
We  hitched  him  just  below  the  big  dam  and  climbed  up  through 
the  bushes,  brambles  and  weeds  to  the  picturesque  body  of 
water  which  lay  in  the  hollow  of  the  mountains  with  the  sun- 
light dancing  over  it. 

When  we  had  passed  the  dam  we  followed  the  shore  by  a 
narrow  path  which  took  us  too  high  above  and  seemed  to  lead 
off  into  the  hills.  While  Breck  and  I  were  discussing  the  situa- 
tion— his  interest  and  suggestions  quite  as  fertile  as  mine — we 
happened  to  look  down  and  there  sat  my  father  by  a  vast  rock, 
fishing  placidly  while  Patch  and  Dixie  ran  excitedly  about. 
Breck  and  I  called  to  them.  Both  dogs  at  once  darted  towards 
us,  crossing  an  inlet  of  the  reservoir  on  a  submerged  stone  em- 
placement, while  my  father  shouted  directions  to  us.  We  were 
to  descend  the  hill  to  the  very  water's  edge  and  follow  a  trail 
into  the  woods  which  came  out  by  his  rock.  Breckie  under- 
stood him  as  well  as  I  and  though  descending  the  hillside  through 
its  tangle  of  brambles  and  weeds  meant  many  lacerations  on 
the  face,  hands,  and  knees  of  a  person  his  size  he  plunged 
through  without  objection.  He  rarely  objected  to  anything  when 
he  knew  the  reason  for  it.  His  eager  activity  brought  him  many 
falls  and  in  summer  his  little  unprotected  knees  were  often 


I04  BRECKIE 

scratched  and  bruised.  He  always  came  with  his  injuries  to  be 
healed,  first:  "Kiss  it,  kiss  it."  .  .  .  and  then  suitable  applica- 
tions and  a  sterile  dressing. 

We  got  down  to  the  water's  edge  on  this  occasion  without 
any  large  mishap  and,  following  the  trail  into  a  bit  of  woods, 
came  out  upon  the  great  rock  beside  which  my  father  sat  alone 
— for  the  others  had  wandered  further  on.  Patchie  and  Dixie 
greeted  us  ecstatically.  They  were  springing  about  my  father 
begging  for  bits  of  the  raw  meat  he  had  as  bait.  For  Breckie 
there  followed  a  thrilling  hour.  His  grandfather  gave  him  a  rod, 
reel  and  all,  and  with  it  his  first  lesson  in  casting.  Breck  set 
himself  to  the  business  with  the  extreme  gravity  he  bestowed 
upon  all  his  play-life  and  of  course  with  no  realization  of  receiv- 
ing his  instruction  from  one  of  the  most  experienced  fishermen 
in  the  land.  He  only  knew  that  "Bobo"  was,  as  always,  very 
good  to  him  and  I  deferred  telling  him  of  Bobo's  catches,  rang- 
ing from  the  Nipegon  to  the  Gulf  in  our  country,  and  as  far  as 
the  Arctic  circle  in  Finland  in  the  old  world. 

Unfortunately  Breck  did  not  catch  a  fish — ^but  even  then  it  was 
a  magic  day.  In  many  ways  his  life  ran  in  an  unbroken  fairy- 
land— happy  outdoor  things  to  do  succeeding  each  other  kaleido- 
scopically  without  his  knowing  in  one  moment  but  that  the 
next  would  reveal  yet  another  wonder  more  delightfully,  more 
peculiarly  suited  to  a  little  boy's  desires  than  the  last.  There 
came  distressing  accidents  sometimes.  One  does  not  grow 
friends  with  nature  without  having  to  learn  many  hard  things. 
Brambles  tear  when  little  hands  and  knees  push  through  them, 
ticks  stick  all  over  a  fellow  and  itch  after  you  pull  them  out,  the 
ground  hurts  when  you  tumble  and  fall  against  it,  and  when  you 
light  a  camp  fire  the  match  will  bum  if  you  don't  let  go  of  it 
quick.  Wasps  and  bees  sting  and  a  Belgian  hare  at  Juliette's  bit 
'an  inquisitive  finger  nearly  to  the  bone.  But  for  all  that  life 
was  a  wonder  tale  and  its  mischances  but  a  part  of  its  dear 
realities. 

Juliette  and  I  especially,  his  father,  grandparents  and  Camille 
occasionally,  were  apt  in  devising  new  glories  for  the  common 
day.     When  the  hot  afternoons  were  succeeding  one  another 


BRECKIE  105 

he  took  off  his  rompers  in  the  Dairy  Hollow  and  played  about 
in  his  little  drawers  and  underwaist  only.  A  favorite  play  was 
with  a  dishpan  of  water  Juliette  put  on  the  grass,  a  hole  in  the 
ground  and  a  kitchen  spoon.  He  poured  water  into  the  ground 
and  stirred  up  the  mud.  Then  he  filled  and  refilled  his  watering 
pot,  sprinkling  all  around  him.  Just  before  his  bedtime,  at 
Crescent,  when  he  was  going  to  be  undressed  anyway,  I  gave 
him  the  hose  to  play  with  and  let  him  water  the  flowers  and 
grass  as  he  had  seen  "Uncle  Bill"  do.  Nobody  minded  his  getting 
wet  or  muddy.  Was  not  the  body  more  than  raiment?  His  un- 
hampered little  body  throve  in  contact  with  the  kind  earth.  On 
June  twelfth  at  three  years  and  five  months  old  his  weight  was 
thirty-four  and  three-quarter  pounds  and  his  height  thirty-eight 
and  three-quarter  inches. 

His  observance  and  remembrance  of  things  seemed  to  me 
exceptional.  One  day  he  and  I  were  about  to  leave  Juliette 
down  in  the  Dairy  Hollow  and  climb  back  to  the  Crescent  alone 
and  we  were  in  a  hurry.  Juliette  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  taken 
the  path  which  began  at  the  edge  of  a  field  back  of  her  neighbors 
the  Hancocks  (whom  she  and  Breckie  called  'Ancocks).  I  had 
not,  but  Juliette  said:  "Breckinridge  le  connait.  II  peut  vous  le 
montrer."  Breckinridge  looked  up,  interested.  "Oui,  Boppie," 
he  said,  "je  le  peux." 

So  we  started  off,  he  leading.  He  passed  down  the  Hollow, 
turned  to  the  right,  climbed  the  sloping  field  back  of  the  "  'An- 
cocks," and  turned  immediately  into  a  narrow  path  tucked  away 
in  among  the  trees.  On  this  path,  crunchy  with  its  old  oak  leaves, 
he  led  and  I  followed  until  it  had  wound  over  a  ravine,  which 
it  circled,  above  where  a  spring  dripped  down  into  a  barrel  much 
frequented  by  the  Dairy  Hollow  horses  and  cows.  Beyond  this 
the  path  came  out  into  the  open  road  again. 

It  was  either  that  day  or  another  at  about  the  same  time,  for 
I  made  note  of  it  in  my  journal  in  July,  that  Breckie  and  I 
were  passing  the  garden  back  of  the  little  house  my  father  called 
his  "shack"  and  I  remarked  casually  that  the  beans  looked  wilted. 

Quite  as  casually  he  answered:    "Potatoes,  not  beans "  and 

he  was  right. 


io6  BRECKIE 

He  liked,  as  of  course  all  children  do,  to  help  other  people 
at  their  work,  and  when  Juliette  was  busy  putting  up  fruits  and 
vegetables  on  her  half  holidays  she  often  got  things  ready  in  the 
morning  with  his  assistance.  He  handed  her  the  peaches  and 
tomatoes  while  she  peeled  them,  helped  in  stringing  and  wash- 
ing the  beans  and  in  shelling  the  black-eyed  peas.  In  gathering 
cow  peas  and  string  beans  he  was  as  particular  as  a  grown 
person. 

When  Juliette  rinsed  out  any  of  his  things  he  liked  to  wash 
too,  using  a  child's  board  and  standing  on  a  bench  we  had  made 
for  him  which  put  him  on  the  proper  level  at  the  lavatory  in  my 
bathroom  for  performing  his  ablutions.  He  had  a  little  shoe 
bag  which  hung  on  the  closet  door  just  below  mine  and  in 
which  he  put  away  his  own  slippers,  sandals,  overshoes  and 
shoes.  A  pair  of  felt  bedroom  slippers,  red  and  with  pussy  cats 
around  the  cuffs  at  the  top,  are  sticking  over  the  edge  of  one 
of  the  compartments  of  this  bag  now.  When  he  outgrew  his 
clothes  we  usually  gave  them  to  Juliette's  nephew,  Edouard, 
who  had  once  been  to  her  on  a  visit  and  was  a  year  younger  than 
^  Breck.  But  Juliette  and  I  made  a  point  of  asking  Breck  if  he 
would  give  them  and  smiling  at  each  other  over  his  ready :  "Yes, 
sir."    He  usually  said  sir  to  men  and  women  both. 


II 

He  was  fond  this  summer  and  the  next  autumn  of  borrov/ing 
one  of  my  typewriter  brushes  and  taking  it  with  a  cup  of  water 
out  to  his  sleeping  porch  or  to  a  window  sill  and  "painting" 
with  it  by  dabbing  the  water  over  things  with  his  brush.  I 
showed  him  what  he  could  paint  and  what  not — explaining  why 
— and  he  could  generally  be  counted  on  not  to  damage  any- 
thing. 

One  of  his  traits  was  an  instant  owning  up  to  anything  wrong 
he  had  done.  If  I  said:  "Breckie,  did  you  paint  father's  desk?" 
He  replied  at  once:  "Yes,  Boppie.  Please  excuse  me."  Or 
if  I  saw  the  door  to  the  refrigerator  in  the  Milk  room  left  open 
and  asked  him  if  he  had  done  it  he  said :    "Yes,  sir,  I  was  eating 


BRECKIE  IN  THE  DAIRY  HOLLOW 
Age  Three  and  a  Half  Years 


C      c  <    ti    t 


BRECKIE  107 

pwunes."  He  knew  of  course  that  even  prunes  were  not  allowed 
except  at  the  regular  meal  hours — but  it  never  entered  his  head 
on  those  rare  occasions  when  he  raided  the  provisions  to  attempt 
concealment  or  denial.  He  was  never  punished  for  it.  He  knew 
no  dealings  with  his  people  that  were  not  loving  and  kind  and 
it  was  not  often  he  grieved  them  by  transgressing  the  natural 
laws  of  health  and  conduct  they  interpreted  to  him.  When  he 
did  we  showed  our  distress  and  sometimes  our  displeasure,  and 
were  sorry  we  could  not  congratulate  him.  Then  we  patiently 
explained  again  the  reasons  for  things.  Gradually,  slowly,  but 
truly,  he  became  more  responsible,  more  trustworthy,  more  de- 
sirous of  our  approbation — and  through  all  this  process  his  in- 
tegrity gleamed  like  a  jewel  untarnished.  No  pitiful  need  of  self- 
defense  had  ever  taught  him  evasions,  no  dread  of  punishment 
bred  in  him  lies.  He  never  obeyed  me  from  fear  of  me,  but 
often,  when  he  could  not  understand  the  reason,  he  obeyed  from 
love.  Frequently  he  failed  in  obedience,  but  less  frequently  with 
every  passing  month.  His  obvious  imperfections  were  plainly 
the  results  of  his  immaturity  and  in  growing  older  he  out- 
distanced them  more  and  more.  His  virtues  were  the  rather 
splendid  ones  of  honor,  courage,  reasonableness,  sweet  temper, 
courtesy — such  virtues  as  respond  readily  in  a  child's  character 
to  patient  and  honest  dealings. 

Breckie's  courtesy  was  one  of  his  marked  features — I  think 
because  we  were  very  polite  to  him.  We  did  not  take  things  from 
him  without  a  thank  you  or  ask  for  them  without  a  please. 
When  Juliette  arrived  in  the  morning  and  he  ran  into  her  arms 
she  said :  "Comment  allez  vous,  cheri  ?"  And  he  replied :  "Twes 
bien,  merci,  et  vous  meme  ?"  If  he  thanked  us  and  we  forgot  to 
reply  "You're  welcome"  he  remarked  reproachfully :  "You  didn't 
say  you're  welcome."  He  did  not  forget  to  say  it  when  we 
thanked  him. 

We  noticed  this  courtesy  in  its  especial  contrast  to  the  gen- 
erality of  little  children  coming  to  the  Crescent  Hotel  in  the 
summer.  These  children  in  the  main  lacked  the  amenities  of 
life,  even  when  naturally  amiable  and  thoughtful,  as  many  were — 
as  all  had  it  in  them  to  be.    Breck  had  just  begun  to  enjoy  com- 


io8  BRECKIE 

panionship  in  his  fourth  summer  and  so  we  let  him  play  with 
the  other  children  in  the  grounds  when  he  seemed  to  wish  it. 
I  overheard  him  one  day  talking  over  his  blocks  with  a  six 
year  old  boy  who  had  just  announced  that  he  would  invite  him  to 
his  block  house,  or  some  such  civility,  and  I  caught  the  sweet 
tones  of  Breckie's  reply.    "Dat  would  be  vewy  kind  of  you." 

One  little  girl  in  particular  of  about  Breck's  age  who  was 
left  chiefly  to  the  care  of  a  young  negro  nurse,  attracted  me 
because  her  clothes  were  exquisitely  embroidered  and  her  mind, 
as  well  as  I  could  gather,  as  undeveloped  as  a  little  animal's. 
She  was  a  pretty  child  with  a  face  full  of  potential  intelligence, 
but  her  manners  were  bad,  her  understanding  meager,  and  her 
only  idea  of  play  seemed  to  be  to  establish  a  corner  on  her  own 
possessions.  We  met  her  in  the  sandpile  where  Breck  shared 
generously  his  trowel,  kitchen  spoon,  and  various  vessels  he 
carried  out.  The  little  girl  had  become  the  owner  of  a  gay  bucket 
and  shovel,  a  sifter  and  tin  shell  dishes,  upon  which  she  kept 
exclusive  control.  Breckie  continued  sharing  his  belongings  and 
I  could  see  that  he  was  puzzled  over  never  being  permitted  to 
play  with  the  shovel  and  sifter.  Juliette  and  I  watched  but  said 
nothing. 

One  day  when  Breckie  came  in  off  the  balcony  from  his  nap  he 
found  in  a  window  seat  a  gay  bucket,  shovel,  sifter,  and  shell 
dishes.  His  eyes  took  the  wide  open  dreamy  look  I  often  noticed 
in  them  when  confronted  suddenly  with  a  wondrous  vision.  He 
said  nothing.  Then  he  drew  nearer  the  vision,  still  without 
speaking.  Then  he  reached  out  his  hand  and  took  the  handle  of 
the  shovel.  It  was  real  and  he  uttered  this  half  doubting,  half 
ecstatic  exclamation:  "J^^i^tte,  Juliette,  c'est  a  moi  cette  pelle?" 

12 

A  game  the  older  children  played  in  the  long  twilight  after  sup- 
per was  Drop  the  Handkerchief  without  the  kissing  features,  and 
several  youngsters  from  the  neighborhood  joined  in.  Breck  was 
considerably  younger  than  the  others  but  they  were  very  good 
about  letting  him  join  in,  and  no  other  word  than  profound  will 


BRECKIE  109 

describe  his  interest.  I  kept  him  up  until  seven  thirty  because 
the  light  and  noise  prevented  his  getting  to  sleep  on  the  balcony 
any  earlier.  Usually  it  was  his  dear  friend  Camille  who  finished 
supper  first  and  got  in  the  grounds  to  relieve  Juliette  for  the 
evening.  When  I  followed  I  found  her  with  him  in  happiest  com- 
panionship. Breckie  was  sliding  or  swinging  or  climbing  as  a 
rule.  He  was  not  partial  to  the  seesaw  after  one  hard  fall,  but 
when  he  did  seesaw  he  generally  sang  softly : 

"Seesaw,  Margewy  Daw, 
Johnny  shall  have  a  new  master. 
He  cannot  earn  but  a  penny  a  day 
Because  he  can't  work  any  faster." 

Or: 

"Seesaw,  Jack  in  de  hedge, 

Dis  is  de  way  to  London  Bwidge." 

Sometimes  he  slid  down  a  grassy  bank  instead  of  the  made  slide. 
He  and  the  little  Franches  were  almost  the  only  children  who 
could  play  freely  in  the  evening  for  the  rest  were  generally 
so  perishably  dressed  and  so  mindful  of  their  clothes  that  they 
could  not  slide  or  climb  after  supper.  But  they  were  very  good 
about  letting  Breck  join  in  with  such  favorite  old  games  as 
Pussy  Wants  a  Corner  played  against  the  oaks,  and  Drop  the 
Handkerchief,  which  I  organized.  He  really  impeded  things 
quite  a  bit,  never  understanding  perfectly  the  rules  of  the  game — 
which  he  played  with  his  accustomed  gravity.  He  loved  to  join  in 
singing: 

"A  tisket,  a  tasket,  a  green  and  yellow  basket — 

I  sent  a  message  to  my  love  and  on  the  way  I  dropped  it." 

Nothing  could  have  been  greater  than  his  joy  over  having  the 
handkerchief  dropped  behind  him,  unless  it  was  the  deep  serious- 
ness with  which  he  walked  around  outside  the  circle  when  it 
was  his  turn  to  drop  it  and  finally  laid  it  on  the  ground  behind 
one  of  his  companions. 

13 

He  brought  me  presents  when  he  came  back  from  his  walks  in 
the  woods  or  up  from  the  Dairy  Hollow — or  else  he  brought 


no  BRECKIE 

back  old  rusty  wheels,  nails,  bits  of  iron  junk,  horseshoes  or 
sticks  for  himself.  These  he  took  to  me  at  once  with  a  proud : 
"Vegardez,  Boppie,  ce  que  j'ai."  While  they  were  in  bloom  he 
constantly  came  back  with  flowers :  honeysuckle,  roses,  sweet 
William,  snow-on-the-mountain,  from  Juliette's  garden — which 
he  presented  proudly  to  either  his  grandmother  or  me.  Above 
the  nosegays  his  grimy  litttle  face  gleamed  with  an  expression 
some  one  described  as  "shining."  It  could  not  be  said  of  him 
that  he  had  "Moved  about  among  his  race  and  showed  no  glorious 
morning  face,"  for  the  sunlight  itself  hardly  seemed  more 
dazzling  than  his  common  smiles. 

His  delight  in  mimicry  expressed  itself  this  summer  in  imitat- 
ing the  ways  of  a  comical  little  fuzzy  dog  named  "Dolly,"  v/ho 
was  stopping  at  Crescent  and  who,  when  told  to  pattycake, 
would  perch  on  her  hind  legs  and  clap  her  fore  legs  together. 
If  any  one  called  her  she  pattered  forward  on  her  hind  legs 
with  the  fore  legs  bobbing  up  and  down.  Breckie  often  became 
a  little  dog  and  when  he  did  his  name  was  "Toto"  after  the  pic- 
ture in  a  book  of  his  by  Anatole  France  called  Nos  Enfants — 
which  Lees  had  given  him.  If  we  told  Toto  to  pattycake  he 
squatted  a  little  and  clapped  his  hands  together,  and  if  we  called 
him  he  trotted  forward  in  that  position. 

There  had  stood  on  the  .mantle  in  my  study  since  before 
Breck  was  bom  a  charming  picture  of  a  two  year  old  baby  hold- 
ing a  ball.  This  was  Jim,  a  small  Britisher,  some  six  years 
older  than  Breck,  the  child  of  my  friend  Frances  J in  Sus- 
sex, and  my  godson.  Breckie  loved  this  picture.  He  often 
talked  to  it  and  kissed  it  and  at  last  he  began  calling  himself 
Jimmie.  Soon  it  came  to  be  understood  that  Jimmie  was  a  lit- 
tle baby,  that  he  could  hardly  walk  and  sometimes  cried.  But 
Juliette  early  persuaded  him  that  Jimmie  was  too  good  a  baby 
to  cry  much,  that  he  smiled  a  great  deal  instead — and  so  if 
Breckie  gave  way  to  tears  about  anything  and  she  exclaimed: 
"Ou  done  est  Jimmie  ?"  he  generally  stopped  crying  to  smile  and 
reply :  "Le  voila !" 

But  Jimmie's  leading  characteristic  was  his  tenderness.  It  got 
to   be  almost   impossible   for  either  Juliette  or   me   to   caress 


BRECKIE  HI 

Breck  very  much  and  show  him  special  tenderness  without  his 
at  once  bep^inning:  "Dis  is  Jimmie — C'est  Jimmie,"  and  nestling 
up  to  us  in  the  way  he  thought  suitable  to  a  baby,  with  the  re- 
sult that  he  became  Jimmie  many  times  each  day.  He  told  me 
that  when  he  was  Jimmie  I  must  be  "Sheepblossom" — a  name 
entirely  of  his  own  invention.  After  that  when  he  said:  "Dis  is 
Jimmie"  to  me  he  added:  "Who  is  dis?"  And  I  always  had  to 
reply  that  it  was  Sheepblossom.  I  was  never  Boppie  to  Jimmie 
and  never  Sheepblossom  to  Breckinridge,  while  to  Bright  Eyes 
I  was  always  Bobtail. 

Breck  called  a  handkerchief  a  "hankispuss"  and  one  day  he 
said:  "Jimmie  is  so  little  he  can't  pwonounce  handkispuss.  He 
says  'hankiker.' "  He  liked  to  mispronounce  other  words  when 
talking  as  Jimmie  and  he  always  explained  that  Jimmie  was  too 
little  or  too  young  to  do  anything  else. 


14 

During  this  his  fourth  summer  Breckinridge  was  on  even  hap- 
pier terms  with  the  natural  forces  playing  about  his  outdoor 
crib  than  ever  before.  He  liked  Zephyr,  the  gentle  south  wind, 
for  all  its  gentleness,  less  than  Boreas.  Sometimes  he  said : 
"Boweas  is  my  fwiend."  They  were  all  his  friends — the  birds, 
the  katydids,  the  tree  frogs,  the  waving  branches  of  the  maples, 
the  sun's  first  rays.  The  lights  way  down  in  the  valley,  above 
which  his  balcony  hung,  mingled  as  one  to  his  untrained  gaze 
with  the  stars  in  the  sky  above  him.  He  became  more  com- 
panionable than  ever  with  the  moon  and  often  talked  to  me  about 
Diana  and  the  boy  she  had  come  down  to  kiss.  But  when  I 
recited : 

"The  man  in  the  moon  came  down  too  soon, 
And  asked  his  way  to  Norwich. 
He  went  by  the  south  and  burned  his  mouth 
With  eating  cold  pease  porridge" — 

he  caught  me  up  at  once  and  said  the  man  wouldn't  have  burnt 
his  mouth  if  the  pease  porridge  had  been  cold. 


112  BRECKIE 

"That  was  a  joke,  Pidgy  darling,"  I  answered,  and  explained  it 
briefly.  Afterwards  he  had  me  say  it  sometimes  with  the  por- 
ridge cold  and  sometimes  with  it  hot — ^but  if  we  agreed  to  call 
it  cold  he  explained  over  again  about  its  being  a  joke. 

On  those  rare  occasions  when  any  one  tried  to  kiss  him,  be- 
fore whoever  was  taking  care  of  him  could  intervene,  he  drew 
back,  saying:  "I  am  not  allowed  to  kiss  stwangers,"  and  when 
asked  why  he  never  kissed  any  one,  even  his  dearest,  on  the 
mouth,  he  replied  automatically :  "Cause  it  isn't  hygienic." 

He  knew  something  of  bacterial  life  for  I  talked  to  him  about 
the  little  invisible  creatures  and  the  different  kinds  of  harm 
some  of  them  could  do.  If  we  asked  him  why  he  washed  his 
hands  before  eating  he  said:  "To  get  off  de  germs  and  mi- 
cwobes  and  bactewia."  They  were  as  real  to  him  as  flies  and  he 
liked  to  question  me  about  them. 

15 

When  the  eighth  of  July  came  around  again,  the  anniversary 
of  his  only  sister's  birth  and  death,  Breck  was  still  talking  of  her 
occasionally — her  image  kept  alive  through  her  mother's  per- 
petual remembrance.  One  of  the  things  I  quoted  to  him  some- 
times was  that  part  of  Rabindranath  Tagore's  Crescent  Moon 
about  the  seashore  of  endless  worlds  where  the  children  meet 
with  shouts  and  songs  and  dances.  He  loved  it  and  often  spoke 
of  his  little  sister  Mary  as  being  there,  dancing  with  Tidy  and 
Camp  and  Jock.  The  contemplation  of  so  much  jollity  naturally 
led  him  into  a  wish  to  share  it  and  sometimes  he  said  he  wanted 
to  go  to  the  seashore  of  endless  worlds  himself,  but  when  I  said 
I  couldn't  stay  behind  without  him  he  replied  either  that  I  must 
go  too  or  that  he  would  come  back. 

Since  our  entry  into  the  war  I  had  become  so  very  busy 
that  every  hour  of  the  day  had  to  be  mapped  out  pretty  much 
into  its  routine  duties  and  I  gave  up  the  long  afternoon  rambles 
in  which  I  hitherto  delighted.  Instead  on  four  afternoons  a  week 
through  the  summer  I  met  with  classes  we  were  organizing  for 
the  making  of  surgical  dressings.     My  committee  work  for  the 


BRECKIE  113 

Red  Cross  nursing  service  kept  me  many  hours  each  week  at 
the  typewriter  and  the  National  Organization  for  PubHc  Health 
Nursing,  for  which  I  was  a  state  representative  in  Arkansas, 
took  further  time.  In  addition  I  had  planned  as  a  sequel  to  the 
interest  excited  among  the  students  during  Child  Wellare  Week 
a  course  in  Child  Welfare  for  our  curriculum  the  coming  winter 
— and  to  planning  it,  corresponding  about  it  and  reading  more 
widely  on  the  subject  considerable  time  was  devoted. 

All  of  this  meant  giving  up  much  leisure  and  accustomed  oc- 
cupations— ^but  seldom  did  it  involve  abandoning  one  of  my 
hours  with  Breckie.  We  began  and  ended  each  day  together  and 
throughout  the  intervening  hours  our  lives  constantly  interwove. 
When  he  came  in  at  eleven  for  his  bath  and  long  midday  nap 
he  ran  like  a  homing  bird  into  the  corner  of  the  room  I  had 
taken  for  my  workshop — where  I  was  the  least  liable  to  inter- 
ruption. There  I  had  a  large  office  desk,  my  files,  and  on  an 
adjacent  table,  my  typewriter,  and  there  it  was  understood 
Breckie  could  always  come.  He  loved  to  rummage  in  the  drawers 
of  the  desk  of  the  typewriter  table,  after  first  getting  permission, 
among  the  brushes,  note  books,  keys,  typewriter  ribbon  boxes, 
rubber  bands,  clips — all  that  sort  of  paraphernalia.  Sometimes 
he  didn't  wait  for  permission,  but  if  I  saw  him  with  my  keyrings 
and  said:  "Breckie,  you  didn't  ask,"  he  put  them  back  in  the 
drawer  and  came  to  me,  requesting  politely :  "May  I  please  play 
wid  your  keys?"  and  then  bounded  off  after  them  again. 

The  typewriter  was  a  frequent  source  of  delight.  He  enjoyed 
sitting  in  my  lap  and  playing  on  the  keys,  moving  the  carriage 
back  and  forth  and  handling  all  of  the  other  movable  parts.  It 
was  clearly  understood  that  there  was  to  be  no  playing  with  the 
machine  in  my  absence  and  he  rarely  transgressed  that  rule — 
because  I  had  explained  to  him  how  easy  it  was  to  injure  the  ma- 
chine. When  he  did  transgress  I  explained  all  over  again.  A 
favorite  play  was  to  take  my  stamps  and  stamping  ink  down  to 
the  floor  and  stamp  my  address  all  over  a  sheet  of  paper. 

But  the  thing  he  most  frequently  did  on  coming  in  at  eleven 
and  running  to  me  was  to  climb  in  my  lap  and  nestle  against  me 
with  :  "Dis  is  Jimmie.  Look  at  him."  Then  perhaps  he  added :  "He 


114  BRECKIE 

wants  to  kiss  you/*  or  he  would  stroke  my  face  with  one  chubby 
hand,  saying:  "He  is  petting  you."  After  we  had  caressed  each 
other  for  a  moment  he  suddenly  became  Breckinridge  and  de- 
manded :  "Tell  me  about  Fwed  and  Lucy  and  Bumbleton." 

It  was  during  this  summer  when  he  was  three  and  a  half  years 
old  that  he  began  to  love  the  continued  story.  I  started  one  day 
a  story  about  a  little  boy  named  Fred,  a  girl  called  Lucy  and  a 
dog — Bumbleton.  This  story  was  destined  never  to  have  an  end. 
The  doings  of  these  three  creatures  pleased  him  and  thereafter 
not  only  every  day  but  several  times  a  day  he  demanded  fuller 
accounts  of  them.  Long  years  before  with  my  younger  brother 
I  had  kept  up  such  a  sequel — for  over  seven  years — about  "Jack 
and  Machinery  Jim"  and  I  now  saw  that  the  age  of  passionate 
love  for  continued  stories  had  begun  with  Breckinridge. 

At  first  Fred  and  Lucy  did  tame  every-day  things  about 
their  home  and  its  grounds  and  at  night,  out  on  their  balcony  with 
the  mountains,  the  lights,  the  stars,  tree  frogs  and  birds,  they 
slept  in  twin  beds  with  Bumbleton  lying  underneath  as  Jock  had 
lain  for  Breckie.  But  gradually  they  fell  upon  wilder  ways  and 
faced  sterner  realities.  In  their  walks  through  the  woods  they 
were  frequently  beset  by  savage  beasts  and  had  to  climb  the 
trees  to  escape.  It  was  than  that  a  fourth  character,  a  big  boy 
named  Roger,  began  coming  to  their  rescue  in  every  crucial  mo- 
ment, like  a  medieval  knight,  always  just  in  the  nick  of  time.  The 
usual  procedure  was  for  Fred  and  Lucy,  when  beset  to  ex- 
tremities by  the  savage  beasts,  to  give  a  loud  call  like  this: 
"Ouououououou" — which  was  answered  almost  simultaneously 
by  another  thundering;  "Ououououou" — and  here  would  come 
Roger  tearing  through  the  underbrush.  Then  bang  would  go 
Roger's  big  gun,  for  he  was  old  enough  for  a  real  gun,  and 
the  fiercest  of  the  beasts  fell  dead. 

Breckie's  faith  in  Roger,  his  omnipresence  and  his  ability  to 
overcome  all  obstacles  was  invincible.  Roger  became  his  beau 
ideal  and  my  highest  praise  of  him,  next  to  saying  "soldier,"  was 
to  call  him  a  Roger  boy.  I  did  not  neglect  to  have  Roger 
shine  in  many  aspects  for  the  little  hero-worshiper.  Was  there 
a  sick  horse  by  the  roadside?    If  Fred  and  Lucy  and  Bumbleton 


BRECKIE  115 

couldn't  handle  the  situation  Roger  always  could  and  did.  A 
lost  baby  ?  A  man  with  a  broken  leg  ?  Roger,  the  good  Samari- 
tan, intervened  if  the  matter  overtaxed  the  obliging  resourceful- 
ness of  Fred  and  Lucy  and  Bumbleton.  In  fact  to  Breckie's 
mind  a  problem  was  settled  when  Roger  tackled  it.  One  day  I 
had  Fred  and  Lucy  and  Bumbleton  hanging  midair  on  the  edge  of 
a  precipice,  unable  to  climb  up  or  down.  But  an  exit  out  of 
danger  immediately  suggested  itself  to  Breckinridge  "Here  will 
come  Woger  wid  a  wope." 

If  I  began  the  accustomed  adventure  like  this:  "When  Fred 
and  Lucy  and  Bumbleton  were  walking  through  the  forest  sud- 
denly they  heard  a  rustling  in  the  sumach  bushes  and  there  sprang 
out  in  front  of  them  four  wild  pigs" — Breckie  gave  me  an  un- 
easy look. 

"Did  dey  call  out  *ouououououou  ?' "    He  asked  anxiously. 

"Yes,  and  then  they  heard  all  at  once,  way  off  in  the 
distance,  an  answering  *ououououou,'  very  faint  and  far  off,  and 
they  knew  Roger  was  coming." 

A  look  of  eager  confidence  succeeded  the  anxiety  on  Breck's 
face  and  he  made  little  gurgling  sounds  expressive  of  relief  and 
delight. 

16 

On  July  eighteenth  I  wrote  in  my  journal  as  follows :  "Yester- 
day Breckinridge  climbed  a  peach  tree  over  and  over.  He  went 
up  several  limbs  and  out  on  others,  handling  himself  with 
dexterity  and  grace. 

"Last  night  he  pulled  out  Cock  Robin  for  me  to  read  for 
his  goodnight  story — and  then  answered  every  query  himself, 
as: 

'I,  said  de  wook, 

Wid  my  little  book, 

I'll  be  de  parson.* 

He  also  brought  the  Pied  Piper  of  Hamlin  to  me  (the  copies  of 
both  that  and  of  Cock  Robin  were  in  our  nursery  in  Washing- 
ton thirty  years  ago)  and  turning  to  Kate  Greena way's  charm- 
ing pictures  began : 


ii6  BRECKIE 

/Wats!  Dey  fought  de  dogs  and  killed  de  cats.  .  .  / 

When  he  turned  the  leaves  he  invariably  stopped  at  the  picture 
above  the  line  'Little  hands  clapping  and  little  tongues  chatter- 
ing' and  said,  pointing  to  the  tiniest  child  in  dark  green  with  a 
hood,  coming  out  of  a  door,  'Dat's  de  little  girl  I  love.'  '* 

Other  books,  special  favorites  of  his  in  his  fourth  summer, 
were  The  Story  of  Jemima  Puddleduck,  Mr.  Jeremy  Fisher, 
Pigling  Bland,  and  Mr.  Todd.  He  did  not  seem  to  care  quite  as 
much  for  Mr.  Benjamin  Bunny — which  was  another  of  the 
series  his  grandmother  had  given  him.  He  was  fond  too  of 
Fanchon,  in  the  "Nos  Enfants  book"  of  Anatole  France  and 
of  many  French  rhymes  of  which  he  was  constantly  learning  new 
ones  with  Juliette.  One  often  sung  that  summer,  and  which 
he  had  in  a  book  of  French  songs  Mrs.  Jordan  gave  him,  and 
later  in  two  others  his  godmother  sent  him  and  in  one  I  gave 
him,  was :  "II  etait  une  bergere."  Another  loved  song  he  sang 
after  this  fashion : 

"Bon  gargon,  commengons  notre  marche  et  nos  chansons ; 
Bien  au  pas,  marchons  bas,  ne  reculons  pas." 

He  came  back  from  Mrs.  Jordan  one  day  and  said  to  me : 
"Boppie,  nous  chantons  *ne  reculons  pas'  et  Madame  Jordan 
chante  'n'etourdissons  pas.'  " 

He  had  never  tired  of  the  first  song  Juliette  ever  sang  to  him, 
"Dormez,  petite  fiUe,"  but  she  sang  it  of  course: 

"Dormez  petit  gargon 
Mettez  vous  au  dodo- 
Dodo  dodo,  bien  sage  et  bien  gentil, 
Endormez-vous  bientot." 

I  heard  him  once  singing  it  to  Teddy,  "Dormez,  petit  ours  .  .  ." 
He  loved  to  climb  into  Juliette's  lap  and  be  rocked  while  she 
sang  this  and  often  he  stayed  there  until  she  had  sung  over  most 
of  the  songs  she  knew.  Sometimes  he  interrupted  her  by  patting 
her  face  with  his  hands,  saying:  "Juliette,  je  veux  vous  cawesser," 
or  "Juliette,  vous  etes  si  bonne."    Occasionally  he  said  to  her: 


BRECKIE  AND  JULIETTE 


BRECKIE  117 

" Votre  nom  est  Juliette  Cami  Bweckinwidge  i  hompson,  parceque 
vous  prenez  soin  de  moi  et  vous  etes  de  la  famille." 

I  think  that  his  favorite  French  rhymes  were  three  of  those 
found  in  a  collection  called  **Voyez  comme  on  dance,"  illustrated 
by  George  Delaw  and  prefaced  by  Madame  Edmond  Rostand. 
After  Lees  had  made  us  another  brief  visit  and  gone  on  to  New 
York  to  study  she  chose  this  book  for  me  at  Brentano's.  It 
reached  us  July  twenty-third  and  from  that  time  on  was  one  of 
Breck's  prime  favorites.  He  did  not  care  for  some  of  the 
rhymes  in  it  as  much  as  for  others,  but  of  the  three  in  question  he 
never  tired.  They  were  "C'etait  un  roi  de  Sardaigne,"  "Le 
Bon  Roi  Dagobert,"  and  the  Loraine  version  of  **La  Legende  de 
Saint  Nicholas,"  beginning:  "lis  etaient  trois  petits  enfants  qui 
s*en  allaient  glaner  aux  champs."  When  he  looked  at  the 
picture  of  King  Dagobert  chased  by  the  rabbit  he  chuckled  and 
said:  "C'est  Bwight  Eyes  qui  court  apwes  lui."  His  preference 
among  the  three  was  for  the  legend  of  St.  Nicholas,  the  butcher, 
and  the  three  little  children.  He  frequently  repeated  it  himself 
and  when  he  came  to  the  part  where  the  saint  brings  the  children 
back  to  life  he  always  stuck  out  three  fat  fingers,  saying :  "Et  le 
Saint  etendit  twois  doights."  The  speeches  of  the  children  he  re- 
peated in  a  voice  pitched  very  high  and  thin : 

"Le  pwemier,  dit:  'J'ai  bien  dormi/ 
Le  second  repondit :  *Et  moi  aussi — * 
Le  twoisieme  dit :  *]e  cwoyais  etre  au  pawadis.' " 

Another  book  he  was  fond  of  in  his  fourth  year  and  even  be- 
fore was  "Slovenly  Peter,"  of  which  he  had  copies  in  both  German 
and  English.  He  knew  no  German,  of  course,  but  the  pictures 
in  the  German  edition  are  more  satisfying.  The  American  edi- 
tion contains  a  number  of  added  rhymes  of  which  "Old  Doctor 
Wango  Tango"  was  a  favorite  with  Breck.  Another  one  which 
thrilled  him  mightily  was  about  "Idle  Fritz"  and  his  untimely  end 
at  the  hands  of  a  wolf : 

"A  wolf  had  made  that  cave  his  den, 
Fritz  never  saw  the  light  again." 


ii8  BRECKIE 

After  a  time  Breckie  began  playing  he  was  a  little  woolly  wolf, 
and  then  he  would  promptly  ask,  nestling  back  in  my  arms :  'Is 
dis  de  muver  woolly  wolf?"  Usually  he  continued  the  play  by 
adding :  "Muver  woolly  wolf,  I  had  Fwitz  for  my  supper.  But 
I  didn't  eat  his  shoes  and  his  buttons.    I  spit  dem  out." 

The  story  of  Pauline  and  the  Matches,  in  his  Struvelpeter, 
made  a  wholesome  impression  and  he  thrilled  over  the  Long 
Red  Legged  Scissor  Man.  As  a  smaller  boy  once,  in  his  third 
year,  he  said,  pointing  down  a  dark  hall,  that  he  saw  the  Long 
Red  Legged  Scissor  Man  down  there.  So  I  explained  very  care- 
fully that  the  man  was  only  in  a  book  and  couldn't  get  out  of 
the  book  to  bother  my  lamb. 

He  was  fond  of  his  Little  Pigs  book,  which  had  belonged  to 
Lees,  even  in  his  second  year,  and  in  his  fourth  year  he  liked 
to  act  out  the  story  of  the  three  little  pigs  which  built  houses 
of  straw,  wood  and  bricks.  Sometimes  he  was  the  pigs  and  I  the 
wolf  and  sometimes  he  the  wolf  and  I  the  pigs  and  he  thundered 
"Little  pigs,  little  pigs,  let  me  in,  let  me  in!"  while  I  replied 
defiantly  "No,  not  by  the  hair  of  my  chinny  chin  chin !"  Often  he 
built  the  pigs'  houses  with  his  blocks  and  we  had  a  real  chimney 
through  which  the  wolf  climbed  down  into  the  pot  of  boiling 
water  where  he  meets  his  end. 

He  often  acted  the  stories  I  read  to  him.  Once  climbing  up 
the  steep  mountain  path  from  Oil  and  Johnson  springs  he  pre- 
ceded me  with  a  long  stick  which  he  kept  thrusting  into  the  roots 
of  the  trees,  quoting  from  his  loved  Pied  Piper:  "Go,  said 
de  mayor,  get  long  poles — Poke  out  de  nests  and  block  up  de 
holes."  Then  he  turned  to  me  with  a  charming  smile  and  his 
hand  outstretched  as  in  the  picture  while  he  said :  "First,  if  you 
please,  my  fousand  guilders." 

The  Child's  Garden  of  Verse,  its  pictures  and  rhymes,  afforded 
him  pleasure  off  and  on  and  another  favorite  was  an  old 
"Nursery  Colored  Picture  Book"  which  had  belonged  to  my 
brother  Carson  before  I  was  born  and  bore  the  date  of  its  presen- 
tation— 1880.  He  liked  the  tale  of  "Young  Mousie  Mouse"  and 
the  "Farmer's  Cheese"  and  the  rhymes  about  the  "Robin  Red 
Breast "  the  same  gentle  robin  who  was  cold  when  "the 


BRECKIE  119 

north  wind  doth  blow,"  who  covered  the  Babes  in  the  Wood  with 
leaves  and  the  story  of  whose  sad  death  as  Cock  Robin  he  knew 
by  heart.  I  tried  to  show  the  continuity  of  thought  running 
through  his  stories  whenever  they  were  linkable,  whether  we  re- 
cited or  read  or  told  or  played  or  acted  them.  He  often  caught 
at  this  idea  himself.  Once,  for  instance,  I  was  telling  him  about 
Fred  and  Lucy  and  Bumbleton  and  the  yarn,  as  it  spun  itself, 
took  the  shape  of  having  Lucy  play  with  a  baby  bear  and  nearly 
get  devoured  by  the  mother  bear  before  Roger  could  save  her. 
A  little  later  Breck  nestled  against  me,  saying  that  he  was  a  baby 
bear,  and  "is  dis  de  muver  bear?"  I  took  the  cue  of  course  and 
sprang  to  my  part. 

"Muver  bear,"  he  went  on,  "I  was  fwightened  when  Lucy 
picked  me  up." 

"But  she  wouldn't  have  hurt  you,  darling,"  I  replied.  "She 
wanted  to  play  with  you.  I  didn't  know  enough  not  to  see  she 
wouldn't  hurt  you." 

"No,"  he  said,  pleased,  "you  fought  she  would  hurt  me — ^but 
she  wouldn't  have  hurt  me.     You  didn't  know." 

When  we  found  a  real  hollow  tree  not  far  out  of  town  on  the 
Blue  Spring  road,  with  a  big  opening  in  front  for  Breckie  to  get 
in  and  a  little  opening  at  the  back,  high  up,  through  which  I 
could  shake  hands  with  him,  we  often  played  Mother  and  Baby 
Bruin — after  we  had  first  poked  out  the  dead  leaves  in  a  pre- 
cautionary hunt  for  possible  snakes. 

Several  natural  histories  were  among  Breck's  most  prized  books 
and  in  especial  one  in  five  large  volumes.  He  kept  his  books 
on  the  bottom  shelf  of  one  of  the  bookcases  in  our  study  and 
frequently  I  have  seen  him  go  there,  pull  out  one  of  these  natural 
histories,  lay  it  on  the  floor  and  begin  turning  the  pages  with  oc- 
casional comments  on  the  creatures  he  found.  He  liked  me  to 
turn  the  pages  with  him  and  read  him  their  names,  giving  bits  of 
information  about  them. 

Just  at  this  time  he  began  to  love  a  copy  of  "The  Jungle 
Book"  my  father  had  given  me  in  London  when  I  was  thirteen 
years  old.  The  story  of  Rikki  Tikki  Tavi  the  mongoose  and  the 
graphic  illustrations  fascinated  him  and  later,  in  the  autumn,  he 


I20  BRECKIE 

liked  parts  of  the  tale  of  "Mowgli"  and  the  wolves  read  to  him. 
But  he  never  wanted  it  read  through.  He  grew  tired  after  ten 
or  fifteen  minutes  of  it. 

An  "Arthur  Rackham"  and  a  "Kate  Greenaway  Mother 
Goose"  were  treasure-books — but  as  I  knew  the  greater  part  of 
the  "Mother  Goose"  rhymes  by  heart  and  Juliette  as  large  a 
number  of  French  nursery  rhymes  and  songs  he  mostly  learned 
these  from  us  direct  without  the  medium  of  books.  Almost  from 
the  time  he  was  old  enough  to  climb  into  my  bed  in  the  morning 
he  demanded  rhymes  of  all  sorts,  and  favorites  were: 


and 

and 
and 


"What  does  little  birdie  say 
In  his  nest  at  peep  of  day?'* 

"To  whit  to  whit  to  whee, 
Now  will  you  listen  to  me? 
Who  stole  the  four  eggs  I  laid 
And  the  nice  little  nest  I  made?" 

"Where  did  you  come  from.  Baby  dear?" 

"Three  Blind  Mice." 


In  his  fourth  year,  it  is  true,  he  grew  to  prefer  Fred  and 
Lucy  and  Bumbleton  stories  and  to  play  at  being  Bright  Eyes, 
the  little  woolly  wolf.  Bruin  the  cub  bear,  and  Tweet  Tweet — a. 
baby  bird — ^but  he  never  ceased  loving  and  occasionally  demand- 
ing the  old  verses  and  songs.  He  was  fond  of  several  rhymes 
from  Lewis  Carroll's  books,  especially  the  "Jabberwocky,"  and 
"The  Walrus  and  the  Carpenter,"  and  "I  sent  a  message  to  the 
Fish — "  the  ending  of  which  plainly  left  him  puzzled,  for  he 
asked,  when  I  first  repeated  it,  "Is  dat  all?"  He  liked  the  song 
beginning:  "Good  Morning  Merry  Sunshine,"  and  he  sang  a 
part  of  "Tipperary"  this  summer  and  the  opening  bars,  and  those 
only,  of  the  "Star  Spangled  Banner." 

He  was  fond  of  the  story  of  "The  Three  Goats  Gruff"  and  of 
acting  it  out,  and  of  "Punky  Dunk  so  fat,  the  black  and  white 
cat."  He  had  once  owned  goldfish,  like  those  which  tempted 
Punky  Dunk,  but  he  did  not  care  about  them,  except  for  want- 


BRECKIE  121 

ing  to  catch  them  with  his  hands,  and  as  they  are  the  most  unin- 
teresting creatures  on  earth  to  me  I  suggested  that  he  give  them 
to  Liliane.  So  they  traveled  down  to  the  Dairy  Hollow  in  their 
pretty  bowl,  where  they  gave  much  pleasure  to  Liliane,  who  was 
old  enough  to  feed  and  care  for  them  and  not  old  enough  to  be 
bored,  and  where,  just  lately,  they  have  been  eaten  by  "Edna" — 
the  Carnis'  large  sow. 

One  of  the  poems  Breckie  loved  best  was  Tennyson's  "Sweet 
and  Low" — and  I  think  this  was  partly  because  of  the  lovely 
illustration  of  it  by  Taylor  which  stood,  framed,  on  my  mantle. 
He  frequently,  in  our  half  hour  before  bedtime  together,  climbed 
up  on  a  chair  or  his  toy  box  to  get  it  down  and  then  climbed  into 
my  lap  before  the  fire  with  it,  and,  while  I  repeated  the  exquisite 
verses  for  him,  his  eyes  never  left  the  picture. 

Another  poem  he  occasionally  asked  for  after  supper  is  found 
in  an  English  book  called  "Little  Lays  for  Little  Folk,"  pub- 
lished in  1882,  which  had  been  given  me  in  Washington  by  my 
brother  Carson.    It  is  by  Lord  Houghton  and  begins : 

"A  fair  little  girl  sat  under  a  tree, 

Sewing  as  long  as  her  eyes  could  see; 
Then  smoothed  her  work  and  folded  it  right, 

And  said:     'Dear  work!  Good  night!  Good  night  1' 

"Such  a  number  of  rooks  came  over  her  head, 
Crying  'Caw !  Caw  1*  on  their  way  to  bed : 

She  said,  as  she  watched  their  curious  flight, 
'Little  black  things!  Good  night!  Good  night!'" 

Breck's  father  is  very  fond  of  the  "Message  to  Garcia"  and 
we  told  Breck  about  it,  and  often  after  that  when  we  asked  him 
to  do  anything  we  said :  "Can  you  carry  this  message  to  Garcia  ?" 
Sometimes  he  came  and  told  us  of  something  he  had  done  or 
could  do,  involving  responsibility,  and  added:  "I  took  dat  mes- 
sage to  Garcia." 

One  couplet  which  carried  its  heroic  message  to  him  in  easily 
understood  words  was : 


122  BRECKIE 

"Hurrah  for  Bobby  Bumble ! 

Who  never  minds  a  tumble — 
But  up  he  jumps,  and  rubs  his  bumps, 

And  doesn't  even  grumble." 


17 

The  middle  of  August  I  dropped  my  work  of  all  kinds  for 
three  days  and  left  Breckie  with  Juliette  while  I  went  out  to 
three  of  the  farmers'  Chautauquas  held  in  our  county  by  the 
field  workers  of  the  Extension  Division  of  the  University  of 
Arkansas.  They  were  mostly  dairy  and  machinery  experts  with 
a  specialist  to  talk  on  Finance,  another  on  Home  Economics,  and 
a  third,  the  Field  Secretary  of  the  Arkansas  Public  Health  Asso- 
ciation, on  Public  Health.  The  last  two  were  women  with  whom 
I  was  charmed.  These  workers  let  me  handle  the  prenatal  and 
child  welfare  subjects  with  the  mothers  and  talk  on  the  tremen- 
dous good  public  health  nursing  could  bring  to  them  and  their 
little  ones.  I  have  always  found  eager  listeners  in  mothers  and 
these  were  most  friendly  and  interested — ^but  it  went  to  my  heart 
that  all  their  devoted  and  so  difficult  maternity  got  them  only  a 
little  on  the  way  towards  efficient  motherhood — and  some  of  them 
no  way  at  all.  I  longed  to  show  them  how  to  make  children 
healthy  and  happy  with  just  the  resources  they  had,  and  when 
each  evening  I  came  back  to  my  own  bonny  boy  and  put  him 
and  Teddy  to  bed  in  the  sweet  solitude  of  his  balcony  I  thought 
the  old  thought  which  had  first  come  before  his  birth:  "I  do 
so  little — ^but  you,  you  will  dispel  ignorance — ^my  great  man  that 
is  to  be." 

18 

In  August  Breckie  had  another  dream — another  that  is  which  I 
have  recorded  with  the  date,  for  I  find  written  in  my  journal 
on  August  seventeenth  the  following: 

"Last  night  Breck  woke  up  suddenly  out  on  his  balcony  and 
called  out  that  he  didn't  want  to  be  fried.    When  I  ran  out  to 


BRECKIE  123 

him  he  said  a  man  wanted  to  fry  him.  So  I  told  him  he  had 
dreamed  it  and  fell  to  wondering  how  soon  children  learn  to 
recognize  their  dreams  as  such. 

"He  spun  a  top  this  morning,  unassisted,  for  the  first  time. 

"Yesterday  afternoon,  Thursday — Juliette's  holiday, — Breck 
and  I  went  to  the  woods  together,  he  on  Peter  Pan  and  wearing 
my  hunting  horn  on  a  red  ribbon  around  his  neck.  He  was 
looking  for  the  fox  in  the  "Story  of  Jemima  Puddleduck"  and 
frequently  wound  his  horn  to  call  up  the  "fox  hound  puppies." 
We  did  not  find  the  fox,  but  spent  interested  moments  by  a 
puddle  looking  at  dragon  flies  and  near  an  ants'  nest  watching 
the  ants  carrying  fat  grubs  from  across  the  road." 


19 

My  brother  Clifton  came  to  us  August  eighteenth  for  a  week's 
visit  before  receiving  his  new  assignment  to  duty.  He  had  left 
Cornell,  of  course,  as  soon  as  we  came  into  the  war  and  now  ap- 
peared before  Breckie's  dazzled  eyes  as  a  second  lieutenant  in  the 
infantry  of  the  Regular  army.  Breck  hung  about  him  worship- 
ing. We  have  pictures  of  them  taken  together  on  horseback 
one  afternoon  when  Clifton  and  I  were  starting  off  for  a  ride  and 
Breck  perched  for  a  moment  in  front  of  his  uncle,  clinging  to 
the  pommel. 

Another  afternoon  we  all  went  out  in  Dick's  car  to  the  Sani- 
tarium Lake,  put  on  our  bathing  suits  and  had  a  fine  swim. 
Breck  wore  his  bathing  suit  too  and  splashed  about  the  edge  of 
the  water  with  occasional  excursions  into  the  depths  on  his 
father's  shoulders. 

Our  friend  and  physician,  Dr.  Phillips,  had  entered  the  service 
of  his  country  and  his  wife  and  baby,  Mary  Catherine,  came  to 
visit  us  at  about  this  time.  The  baby,  just  the  age  mine  would 
have  been,  was  too  young  for  a  companion  for  Breck  but  old 
enough  for  a  very  sweet  relationship  as  of  brother  and  sister  to 
exist  between  them.  Sometimes  he  was  rough  with  her — a,  trick 
he  had  was  of  petting  her  gently  on  the  head  and,  while  she  cooed 


124  BRECKIE 

responsively,  pushing  her  suddenly  so  that  she  had  to  sit  down 
too  abruptly  for  her  comfort.  But  oftener  he  behaved  towards 
her  with  chivalrous  devotion  and  kept  a  watchful  eye  out  to  pre- 
vent her  picking  up  and  swallowing  things. 

Once  in  a  while  he  forgot  and  put  things  in  his  own  mouth — 
such  as  the  end  of  a  stick  he  was  holding,  for  outdoors  he 
nearly  always  carried  a  stick.  But  if  I  spoke  of  it  he  promptly 
took  it  out  and  if  I  asked:  "Breckie,  what  are  the  only  things 
we  put  in  our  mouths  ?"  he  answered  at  once :  "Fings  to  eat 
and  dwink  and  toof  bwushes."  Sometimes  I  said:  **Your 
precious  little  mouth  is  too  sweet  and  clean  for  us  to  put  dirt  into 
it"  and  he  agreed, — and  also  as  to  the  desirability  of  denying 
entrance  to  such  "germs  and  micwobes  and  bactewia"  as  might 
be  harboring  in  the  dirt. 

20 

My  journal  throughout  this  late  summer  and  early  autumn  is 
so  crowded  with  war  details  and  impressions  and  with  bits  of 
special  work  Dick  and  I  were  doing  individually  that  I  have  not 
as  many  records  of  Breckinridge  as  at  an  earlier  period.  Under 
date  September  thirteenth  I  find  recorded,  after  a  sympathetic 
allusion  to  Russia,  home  of  my  early  girlhood,  the  following: 

"I  don't  write  enough  of  Breck.  His  life  and  mine  thread  in 
and  out  at  every  turn,  busy  as  I  am  and  much  as  he  lives  in 
the  Dairy  Hollow  with  Juliette.  The  other  day  he  said  to  me: 
*Boppie,  I  love  you  more  dan  I  do  stwangers.' 

"He  goes  to  bed  at  seven,  gets  up  at  six-thirty  and  takes  a 
nap  of  about  two  hours  every  day.  He  is  outdoors  about  twenty 
hours  out  of  the  twenty- four.  He  comes  in  at  eleven  for  his  bath 
and  nap,  all  eager  with  tales  of  his  explorations  and  nearly  al- 
ways carrying  something.  Yesterday  he  had  acorns  to  plant  and 
make  oak  trees,  the  day  before  an  apple,  the  day  before  that 
morning  glories  and  three  rusty  links  of  an  old  chain.  He  told 
me  he  was  a  morning  glory  and  added:  7^  <iois  gwimper 
(grimper)  sur  une  palissade.' 

"That  evening  when  he  built  a  more  fantastic  block  house 


BRECKIE  I2S 

than  usual  my  mother  said:  'Breckinridge,  that  looks  like  St. 
Basil's  cathedral  in  Moscow,'  and  it  did.    But  Breck  replied: 

"  'But  it  isn't,  Hoho.  It's  a  hide-de-chain  house.'  We  peeped 
through  the  crevices  and  sure  enough  there  lay  the  rusty  links 
of  the  old  chain. 

"I  must  find  a  Geographic  Magazine  of  last  spring,  which  I 
have  packed  away  with  others  to  keep  until  I  can  afford  to 
have  them  bound  for  Breckinridge,  because  in  it  I  remember  see- 
ing a  picture  of  St.  Basil's  cathedral.  I  like  when  his  building 
takes  on  even  a  faint  resemblance  to  something  greater  to  find 
and  shov/  him  a  picture  of  the  something  greater.  The  Encyclo- 
paedia Britannica  helps  out  wonderfully  in  that.  Long  ago  he 
strove  to  imitate  the  outlines  of  Stonehenge  and  now  his  light- 
houses and  acqueducts  bear  a  real  resemblance  to  those  illustrated 
in  the  Britannica." 

Building  with  his  blocks  was  a  daily  joy  to  Breck.  I  bought 
a  large  stout  basket  to  hold  them,  which  he  could  take  up  by 
the  handle  and  carry  from  one  room  to  another — though  as  the 
blocks  accumulated  the  load  got  almost  too  heavy  for  him  to 
lift.  He  had  the  large,  flat  blocks  he  inherited  from  our  child- 
hood (a  quantity  of  them)  and  the  square  ones  I  bought  for  him, 
with  several  smooth  pieces  of  wood  of  various  sizes  he  had 
picked  up  and  used  for  roofs.  In  some  were  brass  headed  tacks 
he  had  hammered  in  himself  with  his  own  tack  hammer.  All  this 
he  supplemented  sometimes  with  kindling  from  the  kindling  bas- 
ket on  the  hearth,  out  of  which  he  made  fences  or  with  which  he 
built  pens,  laying  them  criss-cross  as  he  had  seen  real  log  pens, 
and  as  he  had  imitated  them  before  with  sticks  from  the  wood- 
pile in  the  woodland  back  of  the  "Rosy's  house." 

Building  with  blocks  was,  like  all  his  play,  a  serious  thing 
to  Breck  and  sometimes  he  breathed  heavily  (like  a  runner)  while 
building.  But  whenever  he  stopped  to  discuss  his  handiwork 
the  dancing  light  of  his  smiles  played  over  his  rosy  face. 
Later  in  the  autumn  he  often  said  he  was  making  a  house  to  live 
in  "and  dis,  Boppie,  is  our  woom.  We  have  de  same  woom  but 
sepawate  beds." 


126  BRECKIE 

On  September  thirteenth  I  recorded  this  incident  in  my  jour- 
nal :  **The  other  day,  so  Juliette  tells  me,  Breckinridge,  who  was 
walking  backwards,  fell  and  lying  prone  addressed  her  thus : 
*  Juliette,  je  devwais  (devrais)  avoir  des  yeux  par  dewwiere 
(derriere).  Le  bon  Dieu  devwait  me  faire  encore  des  yeux 
dewwiere/  " 

He  stumbled  and  fell  constantly.  His  habit  was  to  forge 
ahead  with  eager  curiosity,  bent  on  reaching  some  desired  goal 
and  utterly  oblivious  of  the  uncertain  ground  and  its  loose  rocks 
under  his  feet.  I  never  walked  out  with  him,  even  in  the  latter 
part  of  his  fourth  year,  that  he  didn't  fall  down  several  times. 
He  did  not  cry  over  these  falls  unless  they  hurt  exceptionally — 
when  he  ran  to  Juliette  or  me  sobbing :    "Kiss  it — ^kiss  it." 

21 

The  summer  hotel  season  came  to  an  end,  the  manager  left, 
and  we  had  our  usual  brief  period  of  precious  domesticity  before 
the  opening  of  school.  Breck  remembered  the  former  students 
by  name — although  he  had  seen  very  little  of  them  except  for 
breakfasting  in  the  big  dining  room  with  them  at  his  father's 
table.  (These  two  did  not  make  use  of  our  private  dining  room 
for  breakfast  in  the  school  season.)  Breck's  relations  with  the 
faculty  and  students  were  cordial — although  his  schedule  and 
theirs  rarely  brought  him  in  contact  with  them — which  was  much 
better  for  him.  He  never  noticed  that  he  was  observed  by  many 
in  his  comings  and  goings  and  a  real  rabbit  could  hardly  have 
been  more  unconscious  of  its  ego  than  was  the  little  boy  who 
played  at  being  Bright  Eyes. 

When  Breck's  cousin  Florence  returned  in  September  she 
brought  him  an  alert-looking  little  black  and  white  toy  dog 
with  pop  eyes  which  squeaked  if  one  banged  on  its  head.  We 
christened  it  "Toto"  and  I  found  it  after  a  few  days  with  the 
head  nearly  severed  from  its  body.  Breckie,  when  questioned, 
gave  just  the  reply  I  had  expected :  "I  wanted,"  he  said,  "to  find 
de  squeak." 


BRECKIE  127 


22 

In  the  latter  part  of  September  the  western  section  of  Carroll 
county  had  a  fair  in  the  grounds  of  the  Auditorium  Park,  which 
lasted  three  days.  The  first  came  on  a  Thursday  and  Breck 
and  I  went  together.  There  were  the  usual  stalls  of  fancy  work 
and  in  them  a  Child  Welfare  Exhibit  I  had  sent  down,  a  good 
display  of  country  produce,  and  cattle  and  poultry  among  which 
we  recognized  some  of  Henri  Carni's  Brahmas.  His  biggest 
Belgian  hares  were  there  too.  Of  course  booths  had  been  put  up 
all  over  the  grounds  for  the  selling  of  deadly  sweets,  the  letting 
off  of  noises,  the  telling  of  fortunes,  and  the  shooting  at  marks. 
Breck  and  I  took  in  as  much  as  we  wanted  of  everything  but 
the  food  and  drinks  and  made  for  the  merry-go-round,  which 
was  our  prime  object  in  coming. 

Here  then  into  the  fairyland  of  the  little  child's  life  appeared 
this  wonderful  new  pleasure.  He  chose  a  brown  horse  and 
climbed  up  on  it  without  fear.  But  the  thing  was  slow  in 
getting  up  steam  and  he  got  tired  sitting  there,  so  we  took  another 
turn  around  the  familiar  grounds  and  when  we  came  back 
Breck's  horse  was  bestrode  by  another  rider.  He  tried  to  explain 
to  the  big  boy  on  it  that  it  was  his — ^but  gave  it  up  after  a 
moment  with  his  accustomed  good  nature.  Fortunately  there  was 
one  remaining  horse  unoccupied,  a  white  animal,  and  Breck 
climbed  up  on  it  contentedly.  Then  the  music  set  up  and  the 
thing  began  whirling  around  with  the  horse  going  up  and  down 
and  Breckie  sitting  upon  it  entranced,  while  I  stood  on  the  plat- 
form by  him. 

The  remaining  two  days  of  the  fair,  Friday  and  Saturday,  I 
sent  Breckie  back  for  more  rides  with  Juliette  and  Liliane.  He 
repeated  slowly :  "Amewican  childwen  call  it  mewwy-go-wound 
and  Fwench  childwen  call  it  cawousel  (carousel) — Swiss  chil- 
dwen too,  Boppie."  With  Jackanapes  in  mind  I  told  him  that 
English  children  called  it  "giddy-go-round."  His  interest  in  this 
delight  of  many  names  grew ;  and  then,  as  mysteriously  as  it  had 
come,  the  wonderful  creation  of  music  and  motion  passed  out  of 


128  BRECKIE 

his  life.     But  there  were  always  other  pleasant  things  happen- 
ing in  this  little  boy's  fairyland. 


23 

The  next  real  event,  however,  was  a  tragedy.  Dixie  and 
Patchie  were  not  Breck's  dogs,  although  Patch  had  once  belonged 
to  him.  But  she  had  taken  up  permanently  with  my  father  as 
had  Dixie,  who  deserted  Dr.  Phillips  for  him.  My  father  paid 
their  taxes,  fed  and  fondled  them,  and  they  followed  him  every- 
where— even  through  the  mazes  of  a  Virginia  reel  when  he  tried 
to  dance  it.  During  his  absence  from  Eureka  Springs  for  a  few 
days  the  taxi  drivers  told  us  the  dogs  went  to  the  station  and  met 
every  train  until  his  return.  The  two  little  fox  terriers  were 
so  constantly  together  that  it  is  not  unnatural  Breck,  strumming 
a  piano  one  day,  should  have  replied  to  some  one  who  asked 
if  he  were  playing  Dixie : 

"No,  I'm  playing  Patchie." 

But  Dixie  fixed  his  affections  early  in  October  on  a  bull  ter- 
rier belonging  to  one  of  our  neighbors  and  her  mistress  shot 
him  with  a  twenty-two  rifle.  Fortunately  Breck  was  not  by 
and  did  not  see  the  death  agonies  of  the  poor  little  creature — 
but  he  was  concerned  over  the  whole  episode  and  the  feeling  it 
aroused,  and  once  or  twice  he  objected  to  passing  by  the  house 
of  the  woman  who  had  done  the  shooting,  saying  in  explanation : 
"She  might  shoot  me."  He  had  probably  overheard  remarks 
about  the  dangers  to  passers-by  from  guns  fired  in  a  town  and 
this  caused  his  objection,  and  I  am  confident  too  that  he  was  only 

repeating  the  comment  of  others  when  he  said :    "If  Mrs.  X 

had  fired  in  de  air  she  wouldn't  have  killed  Dixie." 

The  idea  of  shooting,  which  the  visits  of  one  of  his  soldier 
uncles  and  our  daily  talk  of  the  progress  of  the  war  brought  home 
to  him,  was  undoubtedly  more  indelibly  fastened  on  his  mind  by 
this  household  tragedy  and  he  talked  about  guns,  pistols,  and 
cannon  a  great  deal.  Often  he  said,  playing  gun  with  a  stick: 
"I  will  shoot  de  Germans."     Once  he  said  to  me : 

"Dere  are  some  good  Germans." 


BRECKIE  129 

"Yes,  my  blessing,"  I  answered,  "there  must  be  some."  He 
considered  a  moment  before  replying  and  then  said : 

"I  will  shoot  de  bad  ones  only." 

Juliette  said  that  he  went  over  with  her  the  whole  ques- 
tion of  the  treatment  of  Belgium  by  Germany.  He  said: 
"Juliette,  c*est  parceque  le  Kaiser  n'a  pas  tenu  sa  pwomesse.  II 
a  pwomi  aux  Beiges  qu'il  n'allait  pas  passer  dans  leur  pays, 
mais  il  est  alle  la  et  il  a  tue  leurs  femmes  et  leurs  enfants. 
Juliette,  je  ne  suis  pas  comme  le  Kaiser.  Je  tiens  mes 
pwomesses." 

When  he  came  in  at  eleven  every  morning  for  his  bath,  milk, 
and  nap,  I  could  hear  him  climbing  the  stairs  with  Juliette  and 
his  eager  voice  talking  rapidly,  supplemented  by  her  interjec- 
tions. 

Breck:  "Juliette,  quand  je  sewais  gwand  je  vais  tuer  le 
Kaiser." 

Juliette:    "Vousallez!" 

Breck:  (With  proud  confidence)  "Oui.  Et  je  vais  tuer  des 
lions  et  des  tigres." 

Juliette :     "  Vraiment !" 

Breck:     (Still  confidently  and  proudly)  "Oui,  je  vais." 

He  overheard  Juliette  and  Henri  talking  about  the  cow  for 
which  they  wanted  to  save  up  money  that  they  might  buy  her, 
and  he  asked  Juliette : 

"Pourquoi  ne  pouvez-vous  pas  acheter  ga  ?"    She  answered : 

"Parceque  je  n'ai  pas  assez  d'argent  pour  acheter  une  vache, 
et  ga  coute  passablement  d'argent."  Then  he  said  to  her,  his 
face  all  eagerness  and  glowing  with  smiles : 

"Et  bien,  quand  je  sewais  gwand  je  demandewais  mon  livre 
de  banque  a  Boppie  et  nous  iwons  a  la  banque  chercher  Targent. 
Puis  nous  iwons  vous  acheter  une  vache.  Parceque,  vous  savez, 
Juliette,  j'ai  beaucoup  de  pennies." 

He  often  said  to  her:  "Juliette,  quand  je  sewais  gwand 
comme  mon  pere  j'auwais  aussi  une  automobile  comme  lui,  et 
vous  n'auwez  pas  a  marcher  j usque  dans  le  Daiwy  Hollow.  Je 
vais  vous  pwend'e  dans  mon  automobile.  Never  mind,  Juliette, 
vous  westewez  tou jours  aupwes  de  moi." 


I3P  BRECKIE 

He  talked  frequently  of  when  he  would  be  a  man.  Evidently 
he  had  seen  pies  and  questioned  Juliette  about  them  for  she  said 
he  asked  her  once:  "Juliette,  quand  je  sewais  gwand  vous  allez 
me  faire  des  *pies/  n'est  ce  pas?"  and  he  seemed  quite  satisfied 
with  her  promise  that  she  would. 

He  liked  to  be  told  little  incidents  of  his  babyhood  which  were 
too  far  back  for  him  to  remember,  and  went  about  repeating 
with  a  pleased  expression:  "When  I  was  a  weency,  tiny  baby 
I  called  duck  *guck.' "  When  he  told  it  to  Juliette  he  said : 
"Quand  j'etais  im  tout  petit  bebe.  .  .  ."  Sometimes  he  said  to 
me :  "Boppie,  don't  you  'member  when  I  was  a  weency  tiny  baby 
I  called  duck 'guck?'" 

When  he  was  only  two  and  a  half  years  old  he  had  seen  a 
woman  nursing  her  baby  and  came  to  me,  trying  to  tell  me  about 
it.  He  never  forgot  the  incident  and  as  he  grew  older  I  ex- 
plained to  him  as  well  as  I  could  the  wonder  and  beauty  of  this 
natural  function.  "Was  dere  plenty  of  milk  in  your  bweasts  for 
me,  Boppie  ?  When  I  was  a  little  baby  ?"  he  used  to  ask  me  in  his 
fourth  year  and  when  I  assured  him  that  the  supply  had  never 
failed  while  he  needed  it,  he  looked  at  me  with  an  indefinable 
expression.  It  had  in  it  a  confidence  that  all  the  sources  of  life 
would  be  as  ready  for  his  needs  as  that  had  been,  and  even  a 
partial  comprehension  of  the  imperishable  bond  which  united  him 
and  me.  Would  the  breasts  of  a  woman  have  ever  been  anything 
but  sacred  to  him  afterwards?  I  had  no  fears  on  that  score, 
little  son. 

24 

His  long  mid-day  naps  out  on  the  balcony  were  wonderfully 
refreshing.  By  the  time  they  fell  due  such  an  early  riser  as 
Breckie  had  begun  to  get  sleepy  and  fretful  and,  after  splashing 
about  in  his  tub,  he  began  calling :  "I  want  my  good  milk,"  and 
drank  it  eagerly.  Juliette  called  his  feet  in  his  winter  night" 
clothes  "des  pattes  d'ours,"  which  pleased  him  immensely  as  he 
and  Teddy  went  out  to  the  Sandman  together. 

Two  or  three  times  it  happened  that  he  did  not  go  to  sleep 
and,  after  he  had  been  out  on  the  balcony  an  hour,  he  called  to  be 


BRECKIE  t^t 

allowed  to  come  in,  saying:  "Boweas  disturbed  me/*  On  one 
of  these  rare  occasions  I  replied:  "But,  Breckie,  you  haven't 
slept.    You  always  come  in  after  you  have  slept." 

To  that  he  answered :  "I  sleeped  alweady,"  and  began  to  cry. 
Then  I  heard  him  stop  and  say  in  his  natural  voice  to  Teddy: 
"Boppie  oughtn't  to  leave  me  out  here,  ought  she,  Teddy  ?'*  After 
which  he  replied  in  a  small,  high  voice,  intended  for  Teddy :  "No, 
6ir,"  and  then  resumed  his  wailing  to  come  in. 

I  went  out  and  said:  "Teddy,  won't  you  go  to  sleep  like  a 
good  little  bear?" 

Again  came  the  small,  high  voice  adjudged  suitable  for  Teddy: 
"No,  sir — "  after  which  Breckie  replied  in  his  natural  tones: 
"He  say  he  won't  do  it." 

Breck  loved  mimicry  and  always  spoke  for  a  creature  in- 
capable of  speaking  for  itself.  If  he  had  out  Fanchon,  Kitchener, 
Cadichon,  Junker,  or  any  of  his  "cweatures"  and  one  of  us 
addressed  a  remark  to  one  of  them  Breck  replied  at  once  in  the 
small,  high  voice  he  assumed  they  would  use  and  kept  up  their 
end  of  the  conversation. 

He  was  fond  of  teasing  now  and  then.  I  was  ordering  Juliette 
some  new  aprons  and  Breckie  said  to  her:  "Juliette,  je  vais 
vous  acheter  des  tabliers  noirs."  Then,  after  she  had  exclaimed 
over  not  wanting  black  aprons,  he  chuckled  and  said:  "Cest 
pour  wire  seulement  que  je  dis  ga,"  and  again  "c'est  pour  vous 
chicaner." 

The  colors  I  preferred  for  him,  because  of  his  fair  skin  and 
vivid  coloring,  were  blue  and  dark  green — but  Juliette  had  set 
her  heart  on  his  having  a  red  dressing  gown  and  slippers  this 
winter,  and  Breckie  heard  her  persuading  me  to  order  them.  I 
was  demurring,  preferring  to  duplicate  the  light  blue  ones  he  had 
outgrown.  He  decided  the  matter  by  throwing  in  his  vote  with 
Juliette,  thus  bringing  a  majority  against  me,  and  he  said  to  her: 
"II  faut  que  Boppie  achete  quelquefois  ce  que  vous  pwefewez, 
Juliette." 

When  the  red  wrapper  had  come  he  said  to  her  sometimes,  as 
she  put  it  on  him :    "Juliette,  Boppie  n'aime  pas  ga,  mais  il  faut 


132  BRECKIE 

que  Boppe  achate  aussi  des  choses  que  vols  aimiez." — That  red 
wrapper — it  is  hanging  now  by  my  closet  door. 

Among  his  bibs  were  several  feather-stitched  in  red  and  sev- 
eral in  blue  sent  him  by  the  mother  of  one  of  our  "old  girls." 
I  preferred  the  blue  and  Juliette  the  red  ones.  He  appeared 
indifferent,  for  his  own  preferences  lay  with  a  bib  which  had  a 
goose  embroidered  on  it  and  another  with  little  bears.  But  some- 
times he  pulled  out  a  blue  feather-stitched  bib  to  wear,  saying 
it  was  because  I  liked  it,  and  again  a  red  feather-stitched  one, 
telling  Juliette:  "Maintenant  je  vais  porter  la  bavette  wouge 
pour  vous  faire  plaisir." 

Some  of  his  suits  were  middy  blouses  and  when  he  saw  me 
dressed  for  a  mountain  tramp  in  tweed  skirt  and  middy  blouse 
he  usually  wanted  to  wear  one  of  his  middy  blouses,  if  he  didn't 
already  have  one  on.  He  was  delighted  when  I  bought  him  a 
pair  of  Ground  Gripper  shoes  like  mine.  His  shoes  and  sandals 
wore  out  even  before  he  outgrew  them,  so  rocky  is  the  Ozark 
country  and  so  constant  in  their  travels  over  it  were  his  little 
feet. 

Early  in  October  Breck's  father  went  to  Washington  for  a  few 
days  on  business  connected  with  the  State  Highway  Commis- 
sion. He  had  intended  getting  Breck  a  train  and  tracks  while 
he  was  up  there — for  Breckie  had  been  wanting  them  since  early 
in  the  summer  when  he  saw  another  child  playing  with  them. 
But  his  father  was  hurried  in  transacting  his  business  and  getting 
back,  so  all  he  handed  Breck  on  his  return  was  a  corkscrew — 
which  he  pulled  out  of  his  suitcase.  However,  this  gave  pleasure 
to  a  child  as  easily  pleased  as  Breck,  especially  as  he  had  not 
known  of  his  father's  intention  to  return  with  the  train  and 
tracks.  He  was  therefore  all  the  more  surprised  when  Dick 
brought  back  a  train  and  tracks  from  downtown  the  next  day 
and  presented  them  to  him.  But  his  enjoyment  of  them  was 
short  lived.  Like  many  modern  toys  they  seemed  made  to  fall 
apart.    The  tracks  were  so  bent  by  Mary  Phillips's  baby  fingers 


BRECKIE  133 

the  first  day  as  to  be  unusable  and  the  train  soon  broke  into  many 
tin  pieces. 

Jack  Frost  as  a  character  took  the  same  personal  hold  on 
Breckinridge's  imagination  as  did  Boreas,  though  much  less 
known  and  less  loved.  Still  Breckie  liked  to  see  him  on  the 
roof  in  the  early  morning  and  snuggled  down  under  his  covers 
at  night  when  Jack  Frost  was  abroad  in  the  land.  He  came  this 
year  early  in  October  and  I  find  the  following  record  in  my 
journal,  dated  October  ninth,  which  begins  with  a  reference  to 
him  and  proceeds  with  an  account  of  Breck's  first  notable  draw- 
ing: 

"This  morning  Breckinridge  and  I  ran  out  to  tell  *Uncle  Bill' 
to  be  sure  to  cut  the  tops  off  the  sweet  potatoes — ^because  they 
had  frosted.  Afterwards  we  went  over  to  the  bit  of  concrete 
sidewalk  in  front  of  Dr.  Ellis's  house  for  Breck  to  use  a  piece 
of  chalk  Camille  had  given  him.  I  suggested  he  draw  a  circle — 
but  the  resultant  object  was  rather  angular  and  had  two  horns 
at  an  upper  end  and  one  leg  at  a  lower.    So  I  said : 

"  'Breckinridge,  if  you  add  another  leg  and  a  tail  to  that  you 
will  have  a  cow.' 

"Very  gravely  he  added  the  other  leg  and  a  long  tail — then 
stood  off  and  surveyed  his  work.  Whereupon  without  a  word 
he  promptly  drew  two  more  legs.  This  followed  exactly  what 
I  had  read  about  the  drawings  of  little  children  never  being  in 
profile,  or  if  in  profile  showing  all  the  legs  just  the  same. 

"Then  Breck  surveyed  his  work  again  and  announced:  *I 
must  put  a  head  on  dat  cow.'  So  he  drew  a  roundness  in  behind 
the  horns,  put  a  dot  in  it  and  said  that  was  the  eye.  After  that 
he  stood  off  and  looked  some  more,  thus  discovering  another 
omission :    'She  must  have  a  bag  for  de  milk.' 

"So  he  drew  one  in  the  right  place,  looked  at  it  and  said: 
*Dere  have  to  be  buttons  on  dat  bag,'  whereupon  he  added  the 
teats, — then  danced  about  the  completed  whole,  exclaiming :  'See 
dat  cow !' 

"Of  course  it  was  on  a  large  scale  and  he  could  never  have 
done  it  on  paper — ^but  how  I  wish  I  could  keep  it.  Greatly  re- 
duced it  looked  somewhat  like  this — but  more  angular.  .  .  ." 


134  BRECKIE 

(Here  follows  a  tracing  from  the  drawing  made  in  my  journal, 
which  was  copied  as  exactly  as  I  could  do  it  from  the  original 
drawing  done  in  chalk  by  Breckinridge  on  the  square  of  concrete 
sidewalk.) 


.     26 

Breckie's  friend,  Camille,  breakfasted  with  him  and  his  father 
every  morning  and  usually  kept  him  with  her  a  few  minutes 
afterwards  before  bringing  him  up  to  Juliette  or  me.  Breck 
enjoyed  the  excursions  he  made  with  her  into  his  father's  offices 
or  the  college  chapel  where  he  delighted  in  playing  on  the  pipe 
organ.  It  gave  forth  a  much  more  bewildering  range  of  sound 
than  a  strummed  piano,  when  Breck  climbed  up  on  the  long 
bench,  touched  the  electric  button,  and  alternately  pressed  the 
keys  or  pulled  out  the  stops.  The  pedal  tones  were  of  course 
beyond  the  reach  of  his  little  feet. 

In  the  school  supply  room,  when  Breck  visited  there,  his  father 
and  Camille  showed  him  over  and  over  the  different  pieces  of 
money  in  the  cash  drawers  and  he  had  learned  them  all  by 
name  from  pennies  to  dollars — but  not  the  value  of  course  of  any 
of  them.  A  favorite  reply  of  his  in  games,  when  asked  the  price 
of  anything,  was  "a  dollar  and  a  quart,'*  although  he  did  not 
stick  exclusively  to  the  one  figure  by  any  means.  When  he  came 
upstairs  to  get  ready  for  outdoors  he  climbed  up  on  his  bench 
in  front  of  the  lavatory  and  washed  the  "germs  and  micwobes 
and  bactewia"  from  the  money  off  his  hands. 

Camille  sometimes  told  me  the  things  he  said  at  breakfast 
and  afterwards.  Once  he  said  to  her:  "Camille,  I  have  eaten 
my  calowies  (calories),  have  you?"     Now  as  no  one  had  ever 


BRECKIE  135 

used  the  word  calorie  directly  in  speaking  to  him  he  must  have 
gathered  not  only  the  word  but  a  connection  between  it  and 
food  from  overhearing  a  conversation,  probably  with  the  dietician 
and  some  other  person  interested  in  food  values. 

I  was  talking  with  the  dietician  one  day  about  the  Binet- 
Simon  scale — in  my  study  where  Breckie,  just  up  from  his  nap 
and  waiting  for  his  dinner,  was  playing  with  some  of  his  be- 
longings on  the  rug.  We  had  been  speaking  of  one  of  the  seven 
year  tests — that  one  which  consists  in  handing  the  subject  a 
picture  lacking  eyes,  nose,  mouth  or  arms,  to  see  if  he  can  detect 
the  defect. 

I  said  that  I  believed  an  intelligent  child  of  less  than  four,  like 
Breck,  could  pass  that  seven-year-old  test — basing  the  belief  on 
the  fact  that  the  children  of  the  professional  and  university 
classes  habitually  test  about  two  years  older  mentally  with  the 
scale  than  equally  normal  children  less  advantageously  situated, 
and  upon  Breck's  having  passed  easily  in  his  third  year  the  three 
and  four-year-old  tests. 

I  didn't  have  a  picture  at  hand  lacking  mouth  or  nose  but  I 
suddenly  thought  of  "Alice  in  Wonderland"  and  pulled  the  dear 
old  volume  down  off  its  shelf,  opening  at  the  picture  heading  the 
"Pool  of  Tears"  chapter,  where  Alice  has  the  long  telescopic 
neck.    I  then  called  Breck  over  to  my  chair. 

"Breckinridge,"  I  said,  "this  is  Alice.  Does  she  look  like  other 
little  girls?" 

He  looked  at  the  picture  doubtfully  and  indicated  that  she 
didn't. 

"What  part  of  her  is  different  ?"  I  asked  him. 

He  seemed  at  a  loss  for  the  words  in  which  to  reply,  looking 
from  me  to  the  picture.  Then  I  said :  "Breckie,  put  your  finger 
on  the  part  that  is  different." 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  laid  one  chubby  finger  on  the 
long  neck. 

The  question  about  the  calories  was  only  one  remark  among 
many  indicating  a  previous  assimilation  of  certain  words  or 
things.  On  those  rare  occasions  when  I  went  to  a  motion  pic- 
ture show  I  explained  to  Breck,  before  going,  as  was  my  custoni 


136  BRECKIE 

if  at  any  time  I  left  the  house  in  the  evening,  where  I  was  going 
and  that  some  one  else  would  be  on  hand  in  my  study  should  he 
wake  up  and  need  anything.  He  questioned  me  closely  about  the 
motion  pictures  and  asked  why  he  didn't  go.  So  I  gave  him 
several  of  the  reasons.  He  had  also  seen  peanuts  and  asked 
about  them,  and  why  he  didn't  eat  them,  and  I  had  explained. 

There  came  to  the  school  this  autumn  the  father  of  one  of 
the  students,  who  met  Breckinridge  and  greeted  him  in  a  jolly, 
companionable  way. 

"You  come  off  with  me,"  he  said,  "and  we  will  get  some  pea- 
nuts." 

Breckie  looked  at  him  with  serious  eyes.  "I  don't  go  wif 
stwangers,"  he  replied,  "I  don't  eat  peanuts,  dey  aren't  good  for 
me. 

His  friendly  visitor  appeared  nonplussed  for  a  moment,  then 
tried  again. 

"Well,  let  me  take  you  to  the  moving  pictures,"  he  said. 

"I  don't  go  to  de  moving  pictures,"  said  Breckie,  still  patiently 
explaining,  "dey  hurt  my  eyes." 

At  this  the  man,  so  Dick  reported  to  me  afterwards,  doubled 
up  and  made  no  further  advances,  while  Breckie,  all  unconscious 
of  the  sensation  he  had  sprung,  ran  with  Juliette  out  into  the 
glorious  world  of  rock  and  tree  and  garden — which  was  his 
nul?ery. 

Though  social  and  cordial  still  with  those  he  met,  Breck,  in 
the  latter  part  of  his  fourth  year,  objected  to  people  more  than 
he  had  done  formerly.  He  never  avoided  an  introduction  or  a 
greeting  but  was  fuller  of  eager  plans  than  of  old  and  impatient 
of  anything  which  detained  him  from  the  things  that  really  mat- 
tered, the  running  and  growing  things,  the  things  for  digging 
and  climbing  and  building  and  throwing  and  tooting  and  calling 
— the  really  worth  while  things  whose  music  was  the  gladness  of 
his  world. 

Then  too  he  grew  fonder  of  a  few  people.  The  little  circle  of 
adoring  faces,  grandparents,  parents,  nurse,  cousin,  a  few  dear 
friends  who  saw  him  every  day,  these  symbolized  love  to  him  and 
he  began  consciously  to  seek  love  and  return  it.     Often  he 


BRECKIE  137 

dropped  his  play  to  climb  up  in  my  lap  and  pat  me  with  his 
little  hand,  saying:  "Boppie,  I  want  to  pet  you/'  Never  a  day 
passed  that  he  did  not  slip  up  to  me  more  than  once  with  the 
exclamation:  **Boppie,  I  love  you."  Whereupon  I  caught  him 
to  me,  repeating  all  the  endearments  which  came  to  me.  Once  I 
used  the  expression :  "I  love  you  stacks  and  stacks,"  and  after 
that  he  often  said :  "I  love  you  wif  all  my  stacks."  Once  I  was 
singing: 

"Rise,  Breckie,  Rise, 

Wipe  out  your  eyes — 

Fly  to  the  east,  and  fly  to  the  west, — 

And  fly  to  the  one  that  you  love  best — " 

when  he  said  to  me:  "Boppie,  you  are  de  one  dat  I  love 
best." 

At  night  when  I  was  tucking  him  in  we  sometimes  vied  with 
each  other  in  large  comparisons  expressive  of  the  magnitude  of 
our  affection.  He  slept  out  all  night  this  year  until  the  second 
week  in  December  and  I  caught  at  natural  phenomena,  viewed 
from  his  balcony  crib,  for  my  imagery: 

"Breckie  Thompson,  I  love  you  more  than  the  moon  is  far 
off." 

"Boppie,  I  love  you  more  dan  de  Cwescent  is  big." 

One  night  in  December,  after  he  had  come  in  to  my  bedroom 
to  sleep  and  it  was  bitter  cold,  I  threw  open  both  windows  and 
was  about  to  slip  out,  having  previously  kissed  him,  when  he 
began  to  cry  and  said:  "You  haven't  loved  me."  That  didn't 
mean  so  much  the  expressions  of  affection  as  a  final  hug.  He 
liked,  the  last  thing,  to  have  me  put  my  head  down  by  him,  he 
saying:  "Boppie,  I  want  to  lie  on  your  arm,"  and  often  whis- 
pering to  me  one  or  two  special  things.  Every  day  and  evening 
I  let  him  know  of  his  dearness  to  me  and  the  high  opinion  I 
held  of  him :  "He's  so  precious  and  good,  this  baby — such  a  dear 
little  boy,  such  a  brave  soldier."  We  did  not  "run  him  down" 
ever.  He  knew,  whether  he  understood  it  or  not,  that  he  stood 
well  in  the  eyes  of  those  who  made  up  his  world,  and,  quick  as  we 
were  to  beg  his  pardon  if  we  had  made  a  mistake,  he,  the  ever 
generous,  was  even  quicker  to  set  himself  right  if  he  had  offended 


138  BRECKIE 

one  of  us.  If  I  said:  "Breckinridge,  it  wasn't  right  to  do  that 
and  I  am  vexed,  or  provoked,  with  you  about  it,"  he  begged 
pardon  at  once.  Not  from  fear — he  never  had  occasion  to  fear 
any  one — but  because  he  wanted  a  restoration  of  the  harmonious 
relations  which  tied  him  to  his  people. 

The  same  entire  absence  of  any  sense  of  fear  governed  his 
admissions  of  wrong  doing.  He  never  denied  transgressing. 
Sometimes  Juliette  asked  him:  **Qui  vous  a  dit  de  faire  ga?" 
and  he  answered:  "Cest  la  terre,"  or  "c'est  cet  arbre,"  or,  if 
in  the  house,  "c'est  le  plancher,"  or  "c'est  la  chaise."  Some- 
times he  said :  "c'est  Teddy."  But  he  was  willing  to  tell  at  once 
just  what  he  had  done.  He  made  of  course  at  times  the  most 
fantastic  statements  and  went  off  into  the  wildest  flights  of 
imagination,  after  the  manner  of  all  normal  little  children, — 
but  of  deliberate  deception,  the  seeking  to  hide  a  wrong  doing 
or  to  deny  it,  there  is  not  in  all  his  history  a  single  trace. 
Potentially  fearless  and  honorable  he  came  to  us  and  his 
escutcheon  was  still  unblemished  when  it  passed  out  of  our 
keeping. 

His  physical  development  during  his  fourth  year  continued  to 
keep  pace  with  his  mental.  At  three  years  and  nine  months  his 
weight  was  thirty-six  and  a  half  pounds  and  his  height  thirty- 
nine  and  three-fourths  inches.  I  had  weighed  him  every  week 
the  first  year  of  his  life,  every  month  the  second,  and  every  three 
months  thereafter — deducting  always  the  weight  of  his  clothes 
(which  I  ascertained  by  weighing  them  separately)  before  chart- 
ing the  pounds  and  ounces  on  his  record.  With  his  gorgeous 
color,  straight  back  and  broad  chest,  firm  flesh,  and  face  alight 
with  intelligence  and  good  humor  from  under  its  crown  of 
yellow  curls,  he  presented  a  superb  picture  of  childhood — nor- 
mal childhood,  but  so  rarely  seen  in  its  perfection  that  among 
the  ignorant  there  was  often  the  impression  that  something  must 
be  wrong  with  him  somewhere.  A  woman  stopped  Juliette  once 
to  tell  her  of  a  prescription  which  might  get  the  red  out  of  his 
cheeks  and  a  laborer  suggested  that  such  a  buxom  child  must 
be  bloated.     After  he  was  dead  his  fine  appearance  was  often 


BRECKIE  139 

recalled  and  the  comment  made  that  "they  had  always  said  he 
couldn't  be  natural." 

We  wanted  Breck  to  acquire  early  an  appreciation  of  the  dig- 
nity of  labor  and  the  value  of  earnings.  I  find  the  following 
brief  record  in  my  journal  dated  October  eleventh:  "Breckin- 
ridge worked  this  morning  with  Juliette's  husband,  Henri  Cami, 
at  digging  potatoes  and  received  for  wages  one  for  himself.  This 
he  will  have  for  his  dinner."  I  well  recall  his  radiant  delight 
over  this  potato  when  he  brought  it  to  me,  full  of  eager  explana- 
tions, and  the  pleasure  it  gave  him  to  eat  what  he  had  won 
by  the  labor  of  his  own  hands. 

Naturally  he  liked  to  do  whatever  any  of  us  did.  Juliette 
was  learning  the  Marseillaise  this  October  to  sing  on  the  evening 
of  the  twenty-fifth  at  a  church  social,  while  she  waved  a  Freilch 
flag.  The  idea  seized  instant  hold  of  Breck's  imagination  and 
nothing  answered  but  that  he  must  learn  the  Marseillaise  too. 
We  called  his  attention  to  the  Tri-color  of  France  hung  with  the 
Union  Jack  and  the  Star  Spangled  Banner  on  our  wall — silk 
flags  his  godmother  had  sent  him — and  told  him  of  that  won- 
derful land,  whose  language  he  spoke,  which  had  always  been 
friendly  to  ours  and  which  suffered  now  so  cruelly  under  the 
merciless  attacks  of  Germany. 

Breck  learned  the  first  verse  of  the  Marseillaise  with  the  ease 
with  which  he  memorized  everything  that  interested  him,  and 
sang  it  after  this  fashion : 

Aliens  en f ants  de  la  patwie, 

Le  jour  de  gloire  est  aw  wive 
Centre  nous  de  la  tywanie — 

L'etendard  sanglant  est  leve — 

(Here  he  repeated,  rather  short  of  breath) 
L'etendard  sanglant  est  leve — 

(Sometimes  he  repeated  this  again,  as  if  he  couldn't  quite  let 
go  of  it — ^but  he  always  skipped  the  next  line,  the  one  beginning 


I40  BRECKIE 

**Entendez-vous — "  and  came  out  deep  and  full,  like  the  pedal 
tones  of  an  organ,  on  this :) 

Mugir  ces  foweces  soldats? 

(Then  very  rapidly  he  continued) 

lis  viennent  j  usque  dans  nos  bwas 
Egorger  nos  fils,  nos  campagnes. 

(Here  he  stopped,  got  a  new  start,  pitched  his  voice  high,  ex- 
tended one  arm  and  pealed :) 

Aux  armes!  citoyens!    Formez  vos  bataillons! 

Marchons !  marchons !  qu'un  sang  impur  abweuve  nos  sillons." 

His  voice  ran  away  with  him  at  the  last  and  he  stopped,  quite 
out  of  breath.  He  liked  to  sing  the  Marseillaise,  but  needless 
to  say  he  never  sang  that  or  anything  else  in  public,  and  was 
never  in  his  life  kept  up  at  night  on  any  occasion  for  any- 
thing. 

28 

Breck  and  Juliette  once  in  a  great  while  went  down  Spring 
street  in  the  little  town  for  their  morning  walk  on  an  errand 
for  me.  At  such  times,  Juliette  told  me,  if  they  had  more  than 
one  thing  to  do,  Breckie  said  to  her:  "Qu'est  ce  que  Boppie 
pense  que  nous  sommes?    EUe  nous  tiens  bien  occuper." 

He  enjoyed  stopping  at  the  springs,  en  route,  to  drink — ^but 
on  the  whole  liked  to  get  back  to  more  informal  surroundings 
and  those  remoter  sprmgs  which  the  tourists  rarely  frequented. 

Soon  after  the  first  frosts  a  cricket  took  refuge  in  our  apart- 
ments, to  my  great  delight.  Breck  too  was  excited  over  his  chirp- 
ing and  when  I  showed  him  the  funny  brown  fellow  he  agreed 
that  we  should  invite  him  to  spend  the  winter  with  us.  Unfor- 
tunately we  forgot  to  tell  Juliette  of  our  invitation  and  she  had 
no  sooner  laid  eyes  on  the  cricket,  which  she  failed  to  recog- 
nize as  a  "grillon"  of  her  native  Switzerland,  than  she  blotted 
out  his  too  optimistic  existence.    When  I  heard  of  it  I  grieved 


BRECKIE  141 

and  Breckie  said  to  her :  "Ce  n'etait  pas  bien,  Juliette,  de  tuer  ce 
gwillon.  Mais  vous  n'avez  pas  fait  ga  expwes.  Vous  ne  saviez 
pas." 

A  few  days  later  our  joy  was  renewed  with  the  advent  of 
a  second  cheery  intruder,  which  Juliette  and  the  chambermaid, 
her  sister  Blanche,  now  cherished  as  carefully  as  Breckie  and  I. 
But  the  death  of  the  first  still  weighed  on  Breck's  mind,  for  he 
said  again  to  Juliette :  "II  ne  faut  pas  tuer  les  betes  que  Boppie 
mette  dans  la  maison." 

He  continued  in  the  latter  part  of  his  fourth  year  to  say  on 
Thursdays  and  Sundays  when  I  went  out  to  take  him  up  after  his 
nap:  "Boppie,  are  you  taking  care  of  me  dis  afternoon?"  While 
I  helped  him  dress  (for  Re  had  not  gotten  very  far  along  with 
dressing  himself,  and  laced  his  shoes  every  which  way,  though 
he  could  undress  himself  nicely  because  of  his  underwaists  but- 
toning in  front)  we  sometimes  discussed  where  we  would  spend 
the  afternoon. 

A  favorite  walk  of  his,  which  we  took  now  and  then  on  that 
account,  although  I  was  not  partial  to  it  myself,  was  down  to 
the  railroad  station  in  the  valley  at  the  edge  of  town.  He  loved 
to  explore  there,  visit  the  big  water  tank,  climb  the  stacks  of 
lumber,  throw  rocks  in  a  creek  bordering  the  railroad  yard, 
examine  into  the  coupling  of  the  cars  on  the  siding  and  investi- 
gate a  thousand  things  of  no  interest  whatever  to  me.  But  as, 
owing  to  the  smallness  and  remoteness  of  our  town  on  its  one 
little  road,  there  were  no  trains  for  hours  at  a  time  and  we  didn't 
seem  in  any  one's  way,  I  could  not  but  take  him  to  a  spot  so 
delectable  to  him  and  where  there  was  so  much  valuable  ma- 
terial for  his  education.  I  specified  that  we  were  not  to  cross 
a  track,  even  the  siding,  without  looking  both  up  and  down  and 
listening  for  a  possible  train.  This  he  never  failed  to  do — ^his 
expression  quite  absorbed,  his  yellow  head  bent  sideways,  as  he 
looked  earnestly  in  both  directions. 

Below  the  station  about  half  a  mile  was  the  septic  tank  where 
terminated  the  water  supply  of  the  town.  Breck  knew  the  city 
water  works  from  A  to  Z  in  a  general  way  quite  as  well  as  the 
city  commission.    We  had  gone  more  than  once  to  the  reservoir 


142  BRECKIE 

in  a  basin  among  the  hills  two  miles  above  the  town.  We  passed 
along  the  winding  rocky  road  by  the  Oil  and  Johnson  springs 
to  get  there  and,  as  we  descended  into  the  romantic  looking 
valley,  Breck  liked  me  to  repeat: 

"Adown  the  glen  came  armed  men, 
Their  trampling  sounded  nearer." 

He  knew  that  the  water  in  this  reservoir  was  pumped  by  the 
big  engine  below  it  up  into  the  standpipe  on  the  mountain  just 
above  the  town  and  that  then  it  passed  into  pipes  which  carried 
it  direct  to  his  bath  tub.  He  commented  on  this  often  when  he 
turned  on  the  faucets  and  it  was  after  he  had  questioned  me 
as  to  where  the  water  went  when  he  pulled  up  the  stopper  that 
we  paid  a  visit  to  the  septic  tank  and  he  learned  that  the  water 
ran  on  down  through  other  pipes,  called  sewers,  into  this  recep- 
tacle. 

Breckie  liked  variety  in  his  walks  and  play  as  much  as  any 
child  and  had  caught  up  an  expression  of  Juliette's,  when  she 
suggested  the  substitution  of  one  accustomed  thing  for  another: 
"pour  changer."  One  morning  early  I  was  preparing  his  orange 
juice  in  the  Milk  room  when  he  came  running  in  with  his  red 
wrapper  and  slippers  on. 

"I  want  my  owange  juice  now,  Boppie,"  he  begged,  "wight 
now." 

"But,  Breckie,"  I  protested,  "you  know  you  never  drink  it 
until  you  have  brushed  your  teeth  and  we  haven't  brushed  them 
yet." 

"O,"  he  said,  "let  me  have  it  first  for  a  change." 

He  and  his  father  had  a  sort  of  game  which  they  called  asking 
foolish  questions.  It  developed  out  of  Breck's  saying,  when  he 
first  saw  his  father  after  an  absence  of  several  days:  "Faver, 
did  you  come  back  ?" 

Dick  answered:  "O,  no,  I'm  still  in  Little  Rock."  Breck 
caught  the  point  at  once  and  after  that  if  he  asked:  "Faver, 
are  you  shaving?"  and  Dick  made  an  absurd,  inconsequential 
reply  he  expected  Dick  to  ask  him  something  equally  obvious, 
based  on  his  occupation  at  the  moment,  such  as : 


BRECKIE  143 

"Breckinridge,  are  you  building  with  your  blocks?"  Then  he 
rejoined  with  quite  evident  amusement:  "O,  no,  I'm  playing 
tennis." 

They  had  another  game  which  they  reserved  for  drives  in 
the  car  with  Breck  sitting  on  the  front  seat  by  his  father.  This 
was  to  see  which  could  first  call  attention  to  the  passing  objects. 
One  would  exclaim :    *T  see,  I  see  a  telegraph  pole." 

"I  see,  I  see  a  bwoken  fence." 

"I  see,  I  see  a  jack  rabbit  crossing  the  road." 

"I  see  two  men  walking  and  I  got  dem  first." 

Breck  seldom  used,  in  fact  I  never  remember  his  using,  the 
words  nobody,  nothing.  Instead,  he  said  anybody,  anything  with 
a  negative  meaning.  If  I  asked:  "What  did  you  bring  back 
from  your  walk,  Breckie?"  and  he  had  nothing,  he  replied: 
"Anyfing."  If  he  wanted  to  tell  me  nobody  was  in  a  room  he 
said:  "Anybody  in  dere."  He  was  speaking  once  to  a  guest 
at  the  breakfast  table  and  didn't  get  a  reply.  Then  he  said: 
"Anybody  at  home." 

In  conversing  with  us  at  this  period  he  frequently  vouchsafed 
an  "O"  after  any  remark  of  ours  which  he  seemed  to  be  con- 
sidering. For  instance,  if  he  asked  for  a  cracker  between  meals 
and  I  said :  "Not  until  supper,"  he  replied :  "O,"  and  made  no 
further  comment.  If  I  explained  the  meaning  of  something 
unusual  he  was  apt  to  reply  just  "O" — questioning  again  later  if 
he  had  not  understood. 


29 

When  I  first  put  on  the  Red  Cross  cap  and  brassard  with  my 
white  uniforms  to  give  lessons  in  the  making  of  surgical  dress- 
ings and  Breckie  saw  me  he  asked  what  they  were.  Then  he 
went  to  Juliette  and  explained  to  her :  "Juliette,  Boppie  est  une 
garde  malade  de  la  Cwoix  Wouge  (Croix  Rouge)." 

Dr.  Bolton,  the  school  physician,  introduced  the  innovation  this 
auttunn  at  Crescent  College  of  inoculating  the  entire  student  body 
with  typhoid  and  paratyphoid  vaccine,  as  well  as  such  of  the 


144  BRECKIE 

faculty  and  employees  who  desired  it.  Among  others  he  inocu- 
lated Breck.  I  explained  to  him  beforehand  that  it  would  hurt, 
but  that  all  soldiers  had  to  have  it  done,  and  he  came  up 
proudly  with  bared  arm  eager  for  the  experience.  However,  it 
was  a  shock  to  him  and  he  cried  for  a  moment,  saying  with 
emphasis :    "No,  I  don't  like  it." 

That  same  night,  Sunday,  October  twenty-seventh,  I  left  for 
Fort  Smith  to  give  an  address  on  Public  Health  Nursing  before 
the  State  Federation  of  Women's  Clubs.  I  had  not  left  Breckie 
for  a  night  since  I  went  to  Fort  Smith  a  year  and  a  half  before, 
and  I  hated  to  do  it  even  though  I  knew  that  with  his  grand- 
parents, father,  and  Juliette  he  was  as  safe  and  as  cherished 
as  with  me.  I  felt  this  to  be  an  urgent  matter  for  which  the 
times  were  ripe,  so  I  steeled  my  heart  and  went. 

Daily  letters  came  during  my  brief  absence  of  less  than  a  week, 
telling  that  Breckie  continued  in  as  glowing  health  and  spirits 
as  when  I  was  with  him  and  was  constantly  alluding  to  the 
overalls  (his  first  pair)  which  I  had  promised  to  bring  him  when 
I  returned.  On  the  Tuesday  after  I  left  his  father  wrote  me: 
"Breckinridge  thrives  quite  as  he  does  when  Fm  away.  He 
occasionally  forgets  you  are  gone  and  then  smiles  and  laughs 
at  his  mistake.  He  scarcely  ever  refers  to  your  being  in  'Smort 
SmiiF  without  mentioning  the  overalls." 

My  mother  wrote  the  same  day  about  his  waking  in  the  morn- 
ing, which  she  could  hear  very  well  since  one  end  of  his  balcony 
joined  her  bedroom:  "He  slept  all  night.  This  morning  he 
called  his  father  instead  of  you.  I  could  not  hear  Dick's  reply 
but  suppose  he  said  it  was  too  early  to  get  up.  Breckinridge's 
reply  to  that  was :  'Well,  I  heard  a  dwop  of  de  bell.'  Still  Dick 
did  not  seem  convinced,  for  Breckinridge  said:  'But,  faver,  I 
heard  a  dwop  of  it.'  " 

She  wrote  the  next  day:  "Breckinridge  is  as  perfectly  well 
and  good  as  a  boy  can  be.  He  has  no  trouble  at  all  from  his 
arm  (the  inoculation).  I  asked  him  what  I  was  to  tell  you  and 
he  said :  *Venez  et  apportez  mes  over/ialls.'  I  am  quite  afraid 
the  Father  of  his  Country  may  be  the  occasion  of  confusing 
his  morals.     Dick  was  trying  to  have  him  tell  the  cherry  tree 


I 


BRECKIE  145 

episode  and  Breckinridge  wound  it  up  after  this  fashion :    'I  cut 
it  down,  faver.    I  cannot  tell  de  twuf /  " 

I  had  written  that  I  would  be  back  Saturday  night  and  that 
Breckie  would  see  me  when  he  woke  up  Sunday  morning.  Of 
course  I  saw  him  as  he  lay  sleeping  but  he  did  not  awaken 
until  his  friends  the  birds  had  set  up  their  early  symphony.  Then 
Breckie  called  me  by  name  from  his  balcony,  perfectly  mindful 
of  the  fact  that  I  would  be  on  hand,  and  when  I  ran  out  to  him 
his  charming  face,  in  its  outdoor  sleeping  cap,  beamed  at  me  as 
he  exclaimed:     "Boppie,  did  you  come  back?" 

30 

I  found  my  loved  Aunt  Jane  and  her  little  grandson,  Brooke 
Alexander,  here  on  my  return — following  the  plan  which  had 
been  formed  months  before  of  their  spending  the  winter  at 
Crescent  College.  She  was  ordered  south  by  her  physician  for 
her  health  and  brought  Brooke,  another  only  child,  to  be  with 
Breckie  that  there  might  be  companionship  for  them  both.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  this  companionship,  daily  and  constant,  was  not 
interrupted  while  Breckie  lived  and  it  added  the  one  thing  he 
had  begun  to  need  to  complete  the  normal  tenor  of  his  days. 

Brooke  was  a  year  and  a  half  his  senior,  better  poised  and 
more  responsible,  a  highly  imaginative  and  intelligent  child — 
but  not  so  robust  as  Breckie  at  the  time  of  his  coming  south. 
He  looked  thin  and  pale  and  was  just  recovering  from  an  opera- 
tion for  cervical  adenitis.  But  in  the  bracing  air  and  sunshine 
of  our  Ozark  mountains,  living  in  the  rugged  outdoors  with 
Breck,  he  soon  put  on  pounds  of  flesh  and  his  cheeks  glowed 
with  deep  red  blood.  He  was  as  dark  as  Breck  was  fair,  with  a 
shock  of  thick  brown  hair  to  offset  Breck's  yellow  curls,  and  the 
two  Bs,  as  Aunt  Jane  called  them,  formed  a  jolly  and  well  con- 
trasted pair  in  their  play  together. 

With  them  it  was  share  and  share  alike  in  everything  and  we 
tried  to  duplicate  the  cherished  possessions  of  each.  The  first 
rainy  day  disclosed  the  fact  that  Breckie  had  a  little  umbrella 


146  BRECKIE 

with  a  dog  handle  and  Brooke  a  new  raincoat.  We  promptly 
ordered  rain  hats  for  them  both  and  a  coat  for  Breck  so  that 
they  might  play  out  in  the  rain  as  freely  as  on  other  days  with- 
out the  need  of  carrying  umbrellas.  Dick  took  out  member- 
ships in  the  Red  Cross  for  them  both  at  one  and  the  same  time 
and  Breck  wore  his  pin  on  the  left  side  of  his  blue  winter  coat. 
They  built  marvelous  houses  with  the  contents  of  the  basket  of 
blocks  and  used  the  insets  from  Breck's  Montessori  cylindrical 
insets  as  men  and  creatures  and  the  long  pieces  of  wood  for 
trains. 

Brooke's  more  advanced  mentality  devised  new  games  into 
which  Breck  entered  with  his  accustomed  seriousness.  One  they 
called  a  "monkey  game,"  but  my  uninitiated  eyes  never  saw  them 
do  anything  except  hold  sofa  pillows  on  their  heads  and  run 
from  the  study  into  my  bedroom  and,  through  the  bath  room, 
into  Dick's,  calling  out :    ''Bogieman,  bogieman." 

"Breckinridge,"  I  asked  one  evening  when  this  had  filled 
in  the  interval  between  coming  in  and  eating  supper,  "what  is  a 
bogieman  ?" 

"He's  a  bad  man,"  he  answered,  "Bwooke  knows  about  him." 

"Who  told  you  about  him?"  I  asked  Brooke. 

"Two  children,"  he  replied  briefly,  and  the  range  of  knowl- 
edge of  the  subject  appeared  to  stop  there.  When  I  said :  "But 
he  isn't  really  a  man,  only  a  play  man,"  neither  child  seemed  con- 
cerned about  it  one  way  or  the  other. 

Another  game  devised  by  Brooke  and  entered  into  with  zest  by 
Breckinridge  was  to  take  bits  of  Brooke's  modeling  clay,  make 
it  up  into  assorted  shapes  and  carry  it  about  on  a  box  top,  calling 
out:    "Jewelry  for  sale,  jewelry  for  sale." 

Dick  played  with  them  like  another  boy.  As  I  came  in  one 
evening  I  heard  a  roaring  sound  accompanied  by  scuffling  and 
was  made  aware,  even  before  I  had  heard  an  explanation,  that 
all  three  were  playing  bear.  As  if  further  to  emphasize  the  fact 
of  its  being  a  game  Breckie  ran  by  without  noticing  me — his  face 
solemn  as  an  Indian's.  Then  all  three  began  rolling  over  and 
over. 


BRECKIE  147 


31 


Brooke's  taste  in  books  was  decidedly  more  mature  than 
Breck's.  In  fact  there  was  hardly  anything  in  the  way  of  a  story 
which  he  did  not  enjoy  and  his  capacity  for  a  more  prolonged 
concentration  kept  him  from  getting  tired  of  the  same  thing  as 
soon  as  Breck  did.  One  day  I  pulled  out  a  copy  of  "J^^k  the 
Giant  Killer/'  illustrated  by  Hugh  Thomson,  for  which  Breckie 
had  not  hitherto  cared  and  began  reading  it  to  both  boys.  But 
I  soon  saw  that  Breck  was  not  old  enough  for  it  yet.  Not  only 
did  it  fail  in  holding  his  attention  but  it  made  him  distinctly 
uneasy.  "O  Boppie,  don't  wead  about  it,"  he  begged.  "I  don't 
like  giants." 

Brooke  took  to  the  Fred  and  Lucy  and  Bumbleton  stories 
with  a  zest  quite  equal  to  Breck's  and  I  enlarged  them  consider- 
ably in  my  daily  recitals  of  the  interesting  trio.  A  permanent 
villain  in  the  piece  now  came  to  the  front  in  the  shape  of  a 
wicked  radiator  from  their  own  home,  who  chased  the  children 
through  the  forest  depths,  breathing  out  hot  steam  as  he  ran. 
Bullets  glanced  off  this  desperado  as  did  arrows  (for  Fred, 
though  not  old  enough  for  a  gun,  could  and  did  shoot  with  a 
bow  and  arrow  and  Breck's  father  made  him  one  like  it)  but 
when  Roger  slipped  up  behind  him  with  a  long  pole  and  turned 
him  over,  there  he  had  to  lie  flat  on  the  ground  and  would  have 
lain  so  forever  had  not  Mr.  Todd,  his  friend  the  fox,  sneaked 
along  and  turned  him  back  upright  again. 

Down  at  the  foot  of  a  long  flight  of  steps,  which  led  out  of 
the  Crescent  grounds  into  the  road  above  the  Catholic  chapel, 
there  was  a  leaky  pipe  connected  with  the  radiation  of  the  col- 
lege out  of  which  the  steam  poured  on  wintry  days.  If  I  passed 
there  with  Breckinridge  he  was  instantly  metamorphosed  into 
Fred  and  called  to  me : 

**Lucy,  dat's  de  wicked  wadiator,  Lucy.    Wun,  Lucy,  wun." 

On  the  Thursday  and  Sunday  afternoons  when  Aunt  Jane  and 
I  took  the  children  out  with  us  our  favorite  rendezvous  was  a 
wagon  on  the  edge  of  town  near  the  standpipe  just  outside  the 


148  BRECKIE 

yard  of  a  man  and  his  wife  we  knew  pleasantly.  Our  real 
acquaintance  began  over  this  wagon,  which  Breck  and  I  had 
visited  occasionally  during  the  summer.  It  belonged  to  Mr. 
Baily,  the  owner  of  the  yard,  and  he  was  always  most  kind  about 
letting  Breck  climb  in  and  out  of  it,  work  the  brake,  and  have  a 
delectable  time  with  it  generally.  Near  by  it  in  the  summer  there 
lay  a  log  on  which  Breck  and  I  walked  until  he  tired,  balancing 
ourselves  so  as  not  to  fall  in  the  water  we  played  flowed  by  on 
both  sides.  The  Bailys  had  also  a  collie  dog,  a  wonderful  fellow 
who  drove  their  cows  in  every  night,  and  in  appearance  so 
strongly  resembled  the  wise  Kep  in  '']emim2L  Puddleduck"  that 
when  I  first  saw  him  I  said  aloud :    "There's  Kep." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Breck,  with  emphasis,  agreeing  at  once.  But 
when  we  found  his  name  was  Mac  we  held  Kep  in  reserve  for 
other  yellow  collies.  Never  did  we  meet  one  that  Breck  or  I 
didn't  exclaim :    "There's  Kep." 

To  this  delightful  region  of  wagon,  Mac,  a  pump,  chickens  and 
one  guinea,  horse,  buggy,  cows,  and  friendly  faces  who  encour- 
aged the  play  of  little  boys,  Breck  and  I  early  introduced  Aunt 
Jane  and  Brooke,  and  while  she  and  I  sat  on  a  plank  by  the 
fence,  planning  the  future  of  these  children,  or  on  the  porch  for 
a  chat  with  Mrs.  Baily,  the  two  little  cousins  explored  to  their 
heart's  content — and  indeed  nothing  could  have  contented  their 
hearts  more.  I  meet  Mac  sometimes  now,  following  his  master 
on  horseback  over  the  country  roads,  and  the  sight  of  him  re- 
calls with  singular  clearness  the  details  of  those  late  autumn  and 
early  winter  days. 

One  place  we  passed  on  our  way  to  the  wagon  was  a  gully 
spanned  by  a  little  bridge.  Here  Breck  and  I  had  sometimes 
acted  the  story  of  "The  Three  Goats  Gruff"  and  here  we  brought 
Aunt  Jane  and  Brooke  to  act  it  with  us.  With  them  we  did  it  in 
fine  style.  I  was  the  Goblin  under  the  Bridge  and  the  voice  for 
the  Bridge,  while  Aunt  Jane,  Brooke,  and  Breck  tramped  sol- 
emnly over  one  by  one  as  the  Three  Goats  Gruff — Big  Goat 
Gruff  being  of  course  the  most  favored  part  on  account  of  the 
heavy  way  he  walks  across  the  Bridge  and  the  fight  in  which  he 
vanquishes  the  Goblin  later.     We  kept  up  the  game  until  both 


^ 


BRECKIE  149 

Brooke  and  Breck  had  been  each  in  turn  all  the  Goats  Gruff  and 
the  Goblin  and  Bridge.  Breck  as  the  Big  Goat  Gruff,  walking 
heavily  over  the  Bridge — trip  trop,  trip  trop — with  his  earnest 
expression,  and  then  darting  out  to  butt  me  so  that  I  l)lew  up 
like  a  puff  ball,  caused  me  to  quake  in  my  Ground  Grippers  when 
I  was  the  Goblin. 

Brooke  vied  with  Breckinridge  in  delight  over  the  station  walk 
and  both  were  especially  attracted  to  a  heap  of  rusty  scrap  iron 
in  that  neighborhood  from  which  they  drew  forth  occasional 
treasures  such  as  bent  hoops,  iron  handles,  spikes,  and  nails. 
Such  trophies  set  me  thinking  of  my  younger  brother  at  about  the 
same  age  when  he  said:  "These  may  seem  like  trash  to  you, 
but  they're  gold  to  me." 

One  afternoon  we  took  the  children  to  a  blacksmith's  shop 
where  they  watched  with  intense  interest  the  heating  and  shaping 
of  shoes  in  a  forge  and  then  the  actual  shoeing  of  a  horse  who 
stepped  in  opportunely.  After  we  had  thanked  the  blacksmith 
and  were  about  to  leave  we  noticed  a  bulging  appearance  about 
the  sweater  pockets  of  both  little  boys  and  an  examination  re- 
vealed that  they  had  stuffed  them  full  of  nails. 

In  their  relations  with  each  other  the  children  squabbled  and 
fought  at  least  once  or  twice  a  day  and  played  together  with 
the  utmost  sweetness  the  balance  of  the  time.  Aunt  Jane  was  all 
for  having  Dick  teach  them  to  wrestle  so  that  their  quarrels 
could  spend  themselves  in  this  manly  form  of  sport,  and,  as 
Breck  was  usually  the  aggressor,  we  told  Brooke,  when  at- 
tacked, to  clinch  quickly  and  throw  him  down.  They  were  build- 
ing with  the  blocks  one  evening  and  Brooke,  a  more  rapid 
builder  than  Breck,  had  taken  more  than  his  share.  Breck,  who 
was  lacking  in  subtleties,  usually  met  such  a  situation  by  starting 
a  fight,  but  on  this  occasion  he  said  to  Aunt  Jane : 

"Aunt  Jane,  do  you  know  why  I  don't  hit  Booke  in  the  head 
wif  a  block  ?    Because  he  would  fwow  me  down." 

Another  time  after  Brooke  had  again  appropriated  the  lion's 
share  of  the  blocks  his  heart  relented  at  the  sight  of  Breck's 


I50  BRECKIE 

unfinished  mansion  and  he  returned  a  portion  of  them.  Breck 
instantly  melted  into  sweetness  and  gratitude.  *'Dat  was  kind 
of  him,  wasn't  it?*'  he  said  to  Aunt  Jane,  "to  give  me  my 
blocks." 

Their  affection  for  each  other  was  tender  and  real.  Breck 
careened  into  a  zinc  table  one  late  afternoon  when  he  was  run- 
ning after  Juliette  in  the  pantry  and  gave  his  head  a  terrific 
blow.  He  turned  white  and  fell  into  Juliette's  arms,  but  was 
able  to  cry  and  presently  beg:  "Embwassez — embwassez." 
Brooke's  distress  was  keen  and  he  kept  begging:  "Don't  cry, 
Breckinridge,  don't  cry." 

Another  day  when  Brooke  caught  his  finger  in  the  toy  pistol 
and  snapped  it  he  began  to  wail  for  help  and  as  I  ran  to  unloose 
it  Breckie  chimed  in  with  his  tears,  saying:  "O,  I  don't  want 
Bwooke  to  cwy."  (Sometimes  he  called  him  Bwooke  and  some- 
times Booke.) 

There  was  a  marked  tendency  on  the  part  of  both  to  com- 
bine together  upon  occasions  against  adults.  One  afternoon  after 
the  snow  had  come  they  were  climbing  a  hill  with  Aunt  Jane 
and  me  and  Breckie  kept  lagging  behind.  Ordinarily  I  let  him 
go  his  own  gait  pretty  much,  but  this  particular  afternoon  was 
far  advanced  and  we  had  barely  time  to  go  where  we  had 
planned  and  get  back  before  night.  So  I  explained  to  Breck 
why  we  hadn't  time  to  linger,  and  when  he  dawdled  anyway  I 
went  on  without  him.  By  the  time  I  had  reached  the  top  of  the 
hill  he  was  calling  to  me  to  come  back.  I  answered  that  I  would 
wait  for  him  but  not  return.  Brooke,  however,  ran  down  a  little 
way  to-  meet  him  and  Aunt  Jane  and  I  could  hear  them  con- 
ferring as  they  approached  us,  Breckie  verging  on  tears  and  ex- 
plaining to  a  sympathetic  Brooke:  "Boppie  went  up  de  walk 
wifout  me  and  it  wasn't  wight.  I  am  vexed  wif  her."  Brooke's 
solicitude  was  inaudible  but  it  succeeded  in  drying  his  cousin's 
tears. 

Brooke  had  to  take  the  inoculations  too  and  he  did  it  with 
a  fine  spirit,  stipulating  only  that  his  grandmother  hold  his 
hand. 


BRECKIE  151 


33 


The  two  little  boys  did  not  sleep  together.  Brooke  had  a  bed 
in  his  grandmother's  room.  But  Juliette  gave  them  their  baths 
at  the  same  time  in  the  one  big  tub  and  they  took  all  their  meals 
together.  First  they  had  breakfast  (preceded  before  they  were 
dressed  by  the  juice  of  two  oranges  each)  downstairs  with  Dick, 
who  carried  their  bowls  of  oatmeal  and  cups  of  milk  with  him 
on  a  tray.  Oatmeal,  ten  ounces  of  milk,  and  a  slice  of  wheat 
or  rye  bread  with  butter  formed  their  invariable  breakfast. 
The  next  meal  was  eight  ounces  of  milk  and  a  graham  cracker, 
at  eleven  thirty,  just  after  their  bath.  Then  came  dinner  at  two- 
fifteen.  This  consisted  of  a  poached  or  coddled  egg  with  a  bit 
of  bacon,  or  a  piece  of  broiled  rabbit,  young  chicken  or  steak, 
a  baked  potato  or  boiled  brown  rice  with  butter,  a  green  vegetable 
and,  for  dessert,  a  baked  apple,  custard,  gelatine,  a  "bricelet"  or 
tea  cake  or  animal  cracker  made  by  Juliette,  or  a  simple  pudding. 
Their  supper,  served  at  five-thirty,  was  always  brown  bread 
and  milk  with  either  stewed  prunes  or  apple  sauce.  Breck  had 
only  the  pulp  of  the  prunes  but  Brooke  could  eat  the  skins  as 
well  and  the  skins  of  the  baked  apples. 

B reek's  little  white  table  was  not  large  enough  for  both  boys, 
so  we  had  had  sent  up  from  Fort  Smith  a  somewhat  larger  table 
and  the  chair  that  went  with  it  which  belonged  to  Clifton's  baby- 
hood in  Russia.  There  was  ample  room  on  it  for  a  tray  for  each 
boy  and,  as  they  sat  at  the  ends,  their  feet  didn't  tangle  up  in 
the  middle — thus  eliminating  scuffling  at  meals.  Dinners  and  sup- 
pers were  taken  at  this  table. 

34 

Breck's  fondness  for  rabbits  and  chickens  as  companions  led 
me  into  the  consideration  of  how  to  make  them  a  part  of  his 
diet  without  fostering  in  him  a  callous  indifference  to  eating  his 
friends  on  the  one  hand  or  a  morbid  aversion  to  meat  on  the 
other.  So  I  began  explaining  to  him,  even  before  curiosity 
about  the  matter  had  awakened  in  him,  that  when  he  ate  a  little 


152  BRECKIE 

chicken  or  rabbit  he  let  its  body  come  into  his  and  in  so  doing 
released  its  spirit  for  a  higher  form  of  life.  I  tried  by  every 
possible  analogy  which  he  could  understand  to  explain  to  him 
that  the  life  in  the  body  was  not  all  body  with  anything — not 
even  with  the  trees.  A  fairy  story  I  had  read  in  my  childhood 
and  the  source  of  which  I  have  altogether  forgotten  gives  as  the 
chief  ambition  of  a  loaf  of  bread  to  be  eaten  by  a  good  child.  I 
could  not  truthfully  tell  Breckie  that  the  desire  of  the  chickens 
and  rabbits  was  to  be  eaten  by  him  (we  did  not  go  into  par- 
ticulars about  the  chops  and  steaks)  but  I  did  tell  him  that  I 
thought  it  good  for  them  as  well  as  him  that  their  bodies  should 
enter  his,  else  it  wouldn't  be  like  that,  and  that  their  life  was 
probably  as  immortal,  though  less  individual,  than  his.  Some- 
times I  talked  for  the  chicken,  as  he  ate  it,  saying : 

"Thank  you,  Breckinridge,  for  letting  my  body  come  into 
yours.  Thank  you,  Breckinridge,  for  letting  me  go  without  my 
body  to  the  seashore  of  endless  worlds." 

Breckie  always  answered  most  politely:  "You're  welcome," 
and  several  times  he  said:  "Dat  was  kind  of  me  to  eat  dat 
chicken,' wasn't  it  Boppie?" 

But  often,  after  I  had  attempted  these  explanations  and  felt 
how  floundering  and  inadequate  they  were  to  explain  the  mighty 
fact  that  all  creation  lives  at  the  expense  of  life,  I  said  to  him: 
"O,  little  boy,  this  is  what  Boppie  thinks — what  she  is  think- 
ing now.  But  you  must  think  things  for  yourself  when  you  get 
bigger."  I  had  no  doubt  but  that  his  thoughts,  when  he  evolved 
them,  would  inspire  and  sustain  him. 


35 

On  Thanksgiving  day  I  showed  Breckinridge  a  colored  picture 
by  Ferris  which  had  come  out  in  a  current  issue  of  one  of  the 
magazines  of  the  First  Thanksgiving,  and  I  told  him  the  fine  old 
story.  I  told  him  that  the  people  thus  rescued  from  starvation 
were  early  Americans  and  because  they  had  fought  hard  fights 
with  primal  conditions  (I  enumerated  the  conditions  in  simple 
language)  he  could  play  happily  in  the  woods  to-day.     I  told 


BRECKIE  153 

him  that  those  particular  men  hadn't  been  his  grandfathers  be- 
cause his  grandfathers  had  landed  further  south,  but  that  all  of 
us  made  a  special  feast  of  Thanksgiving  day  in  honor  of  them. 

"Since  that  time,  Breckie,"  I  said,  '*when  Thanksgivng  day 
comes  around  every  American  thanks  God  for  something  he  is 
glad  to  have,  just  the  way  these  men  in  the  picture  are  doing — 
thanking  Him  on  their  knees  for  something  to  eat.  Since  you 
came,  Breckie,"  I  continued,  "I  have  thanked  Him  every  Thanks- 
giving day  for  you.  Now  don't  you  want  to  thank  Him  this 
Thanksgiving  for  something  you  are  very  glad  to  have  ?" 

Ever  ready,  he  said  at  once,  with  his  responsive  smile :  "I  will 
fank  Him  for  my  shovels." 

With  that,  down  he  flopped  on  his  chubby  knees  and  said: 
"Fank  you,  God,  for  dose  shovels." 

It  was  one  of  his  rare  prayers  and  like  all  he  ever  uttered, 
individual. 

I  did  not  write  this  down  at  the  time,  although  I  spoke  of  it 
to  the  other  members  of  the  family,  but  nearly  two  months 
later,  on  the  seventeenth  of  January,  when  I  happened  to  be 
writing  in  my  journal,  I  recalled  the  incident  ^nd  decided  to 
record  it  then.  It  was  the  first  evening  of  Breck's  brief  illness, 
when  he  only  seemed  a  little  unwell  but  was  sleeping  badly, — 
and  while  I  was  writing  he  called  to  me  several  times.  Upon 
one  of  these  occasions  when  I  had  run  in  to  him  and  was  bend- 
ing over  him  I  said :  "What  was  it,  Breck,  that  you  thanked  God 
for  on  Thanksgiving  day?" 

Instantly  eager  comprehension  lit  up  his  face  as  he  replied: 
"For  my  shovels — I  fanked  Him  for  my  shovels." 

He  did  not  then  or  on  the  previous  occasion  vouchsafe  a  rea- 
son for  his  exceptional  gratitude  for  shovels  and  I  never  asked 
him.  We  had  not,  in  fact,  alluded  to  the  subject  at  any  time  in 
the  two  intervening  months. 

36 

Juliette  and  Henri  had  two  pigs  and  each  little  boy  laid  claim 
to  one  and  was  much  interested  in  the  discussion  as  to  what  dis- 


154  BRECKIE 

position  was  to  be  made  of  them.  It  was  decided  that  Brooke's 
pig  should  be  bred  and  Break's  killed,  cured,  and  smoked.  Both 
little  boys  were  promised  a  pigling  apiece  from  "Edna's"  litter 
when  it  arrived  and  the  black  and  white  pig,  Breckie's,  was 
slaughtered  early  in  December.  Brooke  was  expatiating  at 
length  over  his  pig  being  chosen  for  the  high  office  of  maternity 
when  Breck  interrupted  him  with:  "But  Juliette  will  have 
much  good  to  eat  out  of  mine,"  and  to  Juliette :  "N'est  ce  pas, 
Juliette,  que  vous  aurez  de  la  viande  a  manger  du  mien  ?" 

All  through  November  the  joy  of  the  two  little  boys  was 
to  go  out  in  the  woods  with  Liliane's  wagon,  which  Breck  had 
helped  give  her  on  her  birthday,  and  fill  it  with  acorns  for  the 
pigs.  The  feeding  of  pigs,  chickens,  and  Belgian  hares  was  a 
daily  recurring  delight.  They  liked  sometimes  to  hunt  for  dry 
pieces  of  wood  instead  of  acorns  and  to  fill  the  wagon  and  load 
their  arms  with  this  kind  of  kindling.  The  Carnis  bought  a  tall 
pine  tree  on  the  hillside  back  of  their  home  for  seventy-five 
cents,  to  cut  down  and  use  for  firewood.  But  they  didn't  plan 
to  cut  it  before  February  as  they  had  enough  to  last  until  then. 
I  grieved  over  the  loss  of  the  big  tree,  but  Breckie  was  not 
troubled  with  sentimental  regrets  so  long  as  the  others  in  the 
forest  remained,  and  he  vied  with  Juliette  in  describing  how 
fine  and  tall  a  tree  this  one  was  and  how  wonderful  it  was  go- 
ing to  be  to  see  it  fall. 

The  satisfying  regularity  of  the  wholesome  lives  of  our  two 
little  boys  reminded  Aunt  Jane  and  me  of  a  little  book  which 
gladdened  the  memories  of  us  both  called  "From  Do  Nothing 
Hall  to  Happy  Day  House."  In  Happy  Day  House  lived  Lady 
Love,  who  looked  at  the  children  and  all  they  did  through  rose 
colored  glasses,  and  Dame  Duty,  whose  work  box  was  opened 
by  a  key  called  "Do  It  Yourself." 

37 

Another  member  of  my  family  now  went  into  war  service 
when  my  only  sister  sailed  from  New  York  the  day  after 
Thanksgiving  for  a  port  in  France.  She  was  accepted  by  the 


BRECKIE  155 

Y.  M.  C.  A.  for  canteen  work  over  there  earlier  in  the  month  and 
when  my  mother  learned  of  it  she  went  on  to  New  York  to  stay 
with  her  until  she  sailed.  Before  she  left  she  made  both  little 
boys  helmets  such  as  she  knitted  in  great  numbers  for  the 
soldiers — except  that  theirs  were  dark  blue  instead  of  olive  drab 
or  gray. 

The  cold  came  swiftly  about  the  second  week  in  December, 
just  at  the  time  of  my  mother's  return,  and  more  terribly  than 
any  of  us  remembered  it  in  this  region.  Breckie  continued  to 
take  his  naps  out  of  doors,  for  he  was  equipped  with  all  the 
suitable  paraphernalia,  but  I  became  alarmed  the  second  night 
of  the  first  bitter  spell  lest  his  nose  might  freeze  and  brought 
him  in.  He  had  stayed  out  all  night  the  night  before  when  the 
thermometer  tumbled  below  zero,  but  this  second  night  when 
Dick  came  to  bed  after  eleven  with  the  information  that  it  was 
already  ten  below  and  going  down,  we  agreed  that  it  would  be 
better  to  bring  the  soldier  in.  His  indoor  crib  had  been  taken  to 
the  attic,  so  he  had  to  come  into  my  big  bed  for  the  remainder  of 
the  night  and  was  so  excited  over  the  novelty  of  the  situation  he 
found  it  hard  to  sleep.  The  next  day  the  little  crib  came  down 
from  the  attic  to  occupy  its  accustomed  place  next  my  bed  and 
Breckie  went  to  sleep  indoors  at  night  but  with  open  windows 
and  plenty  of  Boreas. 

38 

I  mentioned  a  toy  pistol  as  having  been  given  Breck  before  he 
was  old  enough  to  play  with  it.  He  had  a  gun  dating  back  to 
about  the  same  period  and  was  just  beginning  to  enjoy  them 
both,  in  the  latter  part  of  his  third  year,  when  his  father  asked 
me  to  put  them  away  quietly  as  he  was  afraid  Breck  would 
learn  from  his  play  with  them  a  careless  sense  of  the  use  of  fire* 
arms.  So  they  vanished  out  of  Breck's  life  but  he  never  ceased 
to  remember  them.  As  the  months  passed  he  made  guns  and 
pistols  for  himself  out  of  sticks  of  wood  and  often  told  Juliette 
and  me  that  he  had  lost  his  gun  and  that  he  thought  he  left 
his  pistol  at  his  grandmother's  island.  His  father  promised  him 
a  real  gun  when  he  should  be  old  enough  to  use  it — ^but  the  de- 


156  BRECKIE 

sire  for  its  toy  predecessor  continued  so  pronounced  that  I  sug- 
gested to  Dick  that  if  he  would  let  me  give  the  little  gun  and 
pistol  back  to  Breckie  I  would,  so  far  from  letting  them  teach 
him  a  careless  handling  of  firearms,  make  them  a  means  of 
teaching  him  their  real  use  and  value.  To  this  Dick  readily 
agreed  and  so  one  day  in  December  I  appeared  before  Breck's 
dazzled  eyes  with  the  little  old  gun  and  pistol,  and  I  told  him 
quite  truthfully  that  I  had  taken  them  out  of  my  trunk  where 
they  had  been  lying  all  of  this  time. 

"Now,  Pidgy  darling,"  I  said,  "you  are  going  to  have  them 
both  to  play  with  so  long  as  you  don't  point  them  at  any 
one.  Guns  and  pistols  are  dangerous.  They  kill  people.  So 
we  never  point  them  at  anything  we  do  not  expect  to  kill.  And 
you  must  be  as  careful  with  these  little  guns  as  you  will  be 
with  the  real  one  we  are  going  to  give  you  when  you  are  big- 
ger." I  had  a  rifle  and  a  shot  gun  with  which  I  hunted  in  my 
girlhood  and  I  often  told  Breckie  they  should  be  his 
some  day.  Meanwhile  I  began  his  education  with  the  toys 
as  I  had  promised  his  father,  and  as  my  own  father  and 
uncle  had  taught  me  when  I  learned  to  shoot.  He  could  do 
anything  he  liked  with  either  except  point  them,  even  in  fun,  at 
one  of  us.  That  was  absolutely  forbidden  and  the  penalty  for 
disobedience  to  this  law  was  a  forfeiture  of  the  offending 
weapons. 

They  never  had  to  be  forfeited  but  once.  Breck  was  as 
cautious  and  particular  with  them  as  if  real  shot  poured  out 
of  the  barrels.  He  and  Brooke  played  alternately  with  pistol 
and  gun  and  I  think  nothing  Breck  ever  had  gave  him  more 
constant  pleasure  than  both.  He  came  to  me  in  triumph  as  soon 
as  he  could  pull  the  trigger  of  the  pistol,  which  was  stiff,  by 
himself.  He  shot  all  the  chairs,  killing  imaginary  lions  and 
tigers,  and  Germans,  including  the  Kaiser,  over  and  over.  But  I 
cautioned  him  about  not  hurting  German  women  and  children. 
'Tt  is  they  who  kill  women  and  children,"  I  explained,  "but  we 
don't  do  that.  Their  women  and  children  will  always  be  safe 
with  our  soldiers." 

One  day  when  we  started  out  and  he  and  Brooke  had  pistol 


BRECKIE  157 

and  gun  Breck  announced  that  he  was  going  to  shoot  birds* 
'*Not  the  dear  little  song  birds,"  I  begged,  and  he  replied; 

"I  will  shoot  a  chicken  hawk  only." 

One  night  he  begged  to  take  the  pistol  to  bed  with  him  and 
Teddy  and  I  said  he  might  if  he  wouldn't  play  with  it  in  the 
night.  I  was  afraid  the  unaccustomed  privilege  would  excite  him 
too  much  for  continued  sleep — and  I  was  right.  Some  time  be- 
fore dawn  he  woke  suddenly,  perhaps  the  result  of  rolling  over 
on  his  hard  bed  fellow,  and  began  snapping  the  pistol.  Naturally 
that  wakened  me  and  I  requested  him  to  desist.  Temptation 
proved  irresistible;  the  snapping  continued,  so  I  took  the  pistol 
away  as  I  had  said  I  would  do.  Whereupon  Breckie  wailed: 
"I  can't  defend  myself  wifout  my  pistol."  But  he  did  drop  off 
to  sleep  again  promptly  and  so  did  I. 

He  had  gotten  so  that  he  could  use  his  hands  with  some 
skill,  not  only  in  pulling  triggers  and  hammering  nails  but  in 
cutting  with  a  pair  of  blunt  pointed  scissors.  One  day  just  about 
the  time  he  was  to  come  in  I  laid  a  large  catalogue  and  the 
scissors  on  the  rug  in  front  of  the  door.  He  needed  no  other 
invitation.  I  heard  him  run  in.  There  followed  silence  and  I, 
looking  through  the  doorway,  saw  him  busily  cutting — his  face 
intensely  serious,  his  mind  absorbed.  If  the  basket  of  blocks 
happened  to  be  standing  near  the  door  when  he  dashed  in,  down 
he  sat  at  once,  pulled  off  his  worsted  gloves  and,  without  wait- 
ing to  be  divested  of  coat,  leggings,  cap,  helmet,  and  goloshes,  he 
began  to  build.  When  he  and  Brooke  came  in  together  a  sort  of 
rushing  sound  accompanied  them,  like  Boreas  in  the  pine  trees 
or  a  swollen  stream  down  Leatherwood  Hollow.  Two  tongues 
talking  at  once,  four  little  feet  pattering,  and  that  general  com- 
motion which  precedes  the  headlong  entrance  of  two  sturdy 
boys  .  .  .  well,  it  was  a  good  sound,  more  musical  to  me  than 
music. 

Another  recent  source  of  development  in  Breck  appeared  to 
be  his  sense  of  smell.  I  could  never  notice  until  the  last  month 
or  two  of  his  fourth  year  that  he  had  an  acute  sense  of  smelL 
Taste,  hearing,  sight,  touch,  all  seemed  pronounced  enough — 
but  he  made  no  observations  about  smell.    True  he  did  some- 


158  BRECKIE 

times  even  in  his  first  and  second  year  bury  his  nose  deep  in 
flowers — but  that  was  because  he  saw  us  do  it.  I  could  not  see 
that  he  got  pleasure  from  their  fragrance  or  that  passing  a  de- 
cayed object  in  the  woods  afforded  him  any  disgust.  In  fact 
he  never  volunteered  an  original  comment  upon  either. 

Quite  suddenly  in  the  latter  part  of  his  fourth  year  he  be- 
gan noticing  all  odors  and  was  so  quick  at  it  that  often  before 
I  had  become  conscious  of  an  olfactory  impression  he  ex- 
claimed:  "Boppie,  what  do  I  smell?'* 

This  was  his  usual  exclamation  when  we  returned  along  the 
streets  towards  evening  and  odors  of  cooking  came  out  of  the 
houses.  He  couldn't  always  place  them,  his  mind  not  con- 
sciously associating  them  with  anything,  but  he  had  become 
curious  about  them. 

39 

I  had  begun  my  experimental  class  in  Child  Welfare  with 
twenty-six  enthusiastic  students,  all  but  two  High  School  grad- 
uates and  in  the  first  and  second  year  college  work — which  is 
all  the  college  work  given  by  our  junior  college.  I  was  intensely 
interested  in  devising  and  planning  this  course  as  well  as  in 
the  immense  amount  of  reading  I  had  to  do  in  preparation.  As 
the  first  semester's  work  pertained  largely  to  the  physical  care 
of  little  children,  the  second  being  reserved  for  more  general 
aspects  of  Child  Welfare,  I  did  a  good  deal  of  demonstrating — 
for  which  I  needed  live  subjects.  Baby  Mary  Phillips,  while  she 
stayed  with  us,  supplied  a  perfect  model  for  bathing  and  dress- 
ing and  I  had  plenty  of  the  best  nursery  equipment,  while  for 
modifying  and  pasteurizing  milk  and  preparing  diets  we  did  not 
need  an  actual  child  to  feed. 

Later  in  the  term,  when  I  was  demonstrating  the  care  of 
sick  children,  Breckie  became  my  willing  patient.  I  asked  him 
if  he  would  let  his  temperature  be  taken  and  treatments  be  given 
him  so  that  I  could  show  the  girls  how  to  do  it  and  he  agreed  at 
once.  Clad  in  his  red  wrapper  and  slippers  he  accompanied  me 
to  the  classroom,  but  when  he  saw  among  my  equipment  a  bowl 
of  steaming  water  he  said:  "Dat's  too  hot,  Boppie,"  and  eyed 


1 


BRECKIE  159 

it  anxiously.  After  the  demonstrations,  when  I  had  taken 
him  back  to  Juliette,  I  thanked  him  for  his  courtesy  in  helping 
us  and  received  his  "You're  welcome,  Boppie,"  in  return. 

One  day  he  saw  a  pair  of  woolen  stockings  belonging  to  me 
hanging  out  to  dry  on  the  white  enameled  clothes  rack  where 
his  little  white  woolen  stockings  and  his  underwear  dried. 
Both  Juliette  and  I  had  omitted  to  ask  his  permission  but  he 
ran  to  her  at  once,  saying:  "Juliette,  vous  pouvez  mettre  les  bas 
de  Boppie  sur  mon  wack — vous  pouvez." 

He  heard  his  father  questioning  me  about  something  and  evi- 
dently thought  his  tone  too  serious  for  he  went  up  to  him  and 
said  earnestly :  "Boppie  is  not  to  blame." 

He  was  fond  this  December  of  imitating  the  bellow  of  a  bull 
in  words  his  father  had  taught  him,  like  this :  "Fm  agoin'  down 
yonder  to  dat  man's  field  and  get  me  some  new  gwass,  new 
gwass,  new  gwass." 

He  learned  a  new  song,  a  sort  of  dialogue  in  French  which  he 
recited  with  Juliette.  I  overheard  them  going  through  with  it 
together  one  day,  both  gravely  courteous,  in  the  characters  of 
shopowner  and  customer,  and  several  times  I  begged  them  to  re- 
peat it  for  me.    It  ran  like  this : 

"J.  Madame,  vendez-vous  du  cafe? 

B.  Tirelot  lot  lot  j'en  ai  du  tout  bon. 
J.  Combien  le  faites-vous  payer? 

B.  Tirelot  lot  lot  twois  fwancs  (trois  francs)  le  kilo. 
J.  Cest  trop  cher,  Madame — 

B.  Ah,  mais  non,  Madame. 
J.  Voyons,  laissez-moi  le  cafe  pour  un  sou. 

B.  Twes  (tres)  bien,  Madame,  puis-ce-que  c'est  vous. 
B.  (extending  one  hand)  Voici  le  cafe. 

J.  (ditto)  Et  voici  le  sou. 
J.  and  B.  together — Ah,  ah,  ah,  ah — 

Je  vous  recommende  la  bonne  marchande. 
Qui  vous  laisse  tout,  tout  pour  un  sou." 

40 

On  the  sixth  of  December  a  girl  of  sixteen,  the  daughter  of 
one  of  Juliette's  neighbors  in  the  Dairy  Hollow,  died  after  a 


l6o  BRECKIE 

lingering  illness.  Breck  told  me  of  it.  He  said:  "Ammeline 
Wobertson  is  dead,  Boppie.  You  wegwet  it?"  (He  frequently 
carried  over  into  English  Juliette's  expression  "vous  regrettez?" 
He  heard  Juliette  and  her  neighbors  discussing  the  death  and 
mourning  over  the  youth  of  the  one  who  had  died.  Juliette,  as  he 
knew,  sat  up  through  the  night  with  the  family,  and  many  of 
those  neighborly  acts  of  kindness  which  both  soothe  and  glorify 
our  human  tragedies  passed  before  his  observant  eyes.  The 
day  of  the  funeral  as  he  went  down  into  the  Dairy  Hollow  with 
Juliette  the  hearse  stood  before  the  Robertsons'  gate.  Juliette 
took  him  into  her  garden  before  the  coffin  was  borne  out  but 
she  told  me  long  afterwards  of  the  questions  he  had  asked  her 
and  her  replies.  The  whole  thing  made  a  profound  impression 
on  Breckinridge's  mind,  but  how  deep  an  impression  I  was  not 
to  know  until  later. 

Christmas  was  again  approaching  and  the  air  of  Crescent  full 
of  preparations  for  the  big  tree  by  means  of  which  the  Crescent 
students  gave  clothing  and  toys  to  the  poorest  children  of  the 
city.  The  thing  began  every  year  with  Dick's  reading  aloud  one 
Sunday  night  in  chapel  *'The  Birds*  Christmas  Carol."  Then 
the  school  divided  into  committees  which  did  the  work.  Breckin- 
ridge and  Brooke  both  attended  this  tree  and  appeared  pleasantly 
impressed  with  its  towering  appearance  and  with  an  excellent 
impersonatioii  of  Santa  Claus. 

In  the  evenings  by  the  fire  when  I  had  my  boy  gathered  in  my 
arms  I  talked  to  him  often  of  the  meaning  of  Christmas  and  of 
the  birth  of  the  Christ  Child.  He  had  always  liked  a  Murillo 
Madonna  and  Child  which  hung  in  my  bedroom  and  sometimes  he 
commented  on  it.  This  Christmas  I  told  him  the  Bethlehem 
story  more  fully  and  graphically  than  at  any  previous  time  and 
when  I  came  to  the  manger  I  said:  "You  don't  know  what  a 
manger  is,  do  you,  Breckie  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  answered  at  once,  "it's  selfishness — dog  in  de 
manger." 

For  the  first  time,  this  December,  I  spoke  to  Breck  of  Jesus 


BRECKIE  i6t 

as  other  than  a  child,  as  One  who  had  grown  up  but  kept  a  love 
for  little  children,  whom  He  understood  and  to  whom  He  was 
kind.  I  told  of  His  gathering  them  around  Him  and  blessing 
them.  But  I  gave  no  details  of  His  life  except  those  bearing  on 
His  childhood  and  His  adoration  of  childhood. 

Brooke's  letters  from  his  mother,  always  frequent,  but  at 
Christmas  time  so  numerous  and  supplemented  by  so  many 
gay  cards  from  other  absentees  who  loved  him  as  to  suggest  a 
Pentecostal  shower,  excited  Breck's  desire  for  similar  favors. 
"I  want  some  mail,"  he  pleaded  whenever  Brooke  became  the 
recipient  of  an  adult's  share.  I  began  handing  my  own  Christ- 
mas cards  over  to  him  unopened  and  I  had  a  little  talk  with  him 
besides  in  which  I  explained  that  Brooke  had  letters  and  cards 
from  his  mother  because  he  was  away  from  her — but  that  Breck 
had  his  mother  close  by,  which  he  agreed  was  better  yet. 

Just  before  the  holidays  two  of  the  teachers  brought  in  a  gray 
kitten — a  waif — around  whose  neck  they  had  tied  a  bow  of 
lavender  ribbon.  I  asked  the  boys  if  we  should  keep  the  kitten 
and  when  they  decided  they  wanted  to  I  suggested  to  Breck  that 
we  call  her  "Punky  Dunk."  Breck  rarely  failed  to  have  a  de- 
cided opinion  pro  or  con  for  any  suggestion.  He  replied  at 
once:  "No,  I  will  call  her  Wibbon.  Here,  Wibbon,  Wibbon." 
Later  he  said  she  might  be  "Wibbon  Punky  Dunk" — but  the 
gray  kitten  showed  a  preference  for  the  warm  kitchen  and  the 
society  of  another  cat  residing  there  and  soon  deserted  us. 

Shortly  before  Christmas  I  suggested  to  the  boys  that  they 
each  buy  their  grandmothers  a  present  with  some  of  their  own 
pennies.  The  idea  pleased  them  and  we  went  down  town  on  this 
errand  where,  after  much  bewildered  choosing,  they  selected 
jumping  figures.  We  have  no  real  toy  shops  in  Eureka  Springs 
— but  several  of  the  stores  carry  a  large  assortment  of  toys  at 
Christmas — wonderlands  they  were  to  Breckie,  who  knew  noth- 
ing finer,  but  not  so  imposing  to  Brooke,  who  could  remember  the 
Christmas  shops  of  New  York.  Brooke  on  the  other  hand 
fairly  reveled  in  the  pigs,  chickens,  and  other  charms  of  the 
Dairy  Hollow. 

The  day  before  Christmas  Dick  took  the  children  down  to  the 


l62  BRECKIE 

shops  and  let  them  choose  from  among  the  moderately  priced 
playthings  whatever  they  liked  best.  Each  boy  chose  a  whip,  a 
folding  fence,  and  a  cow  bell.  There  they  divided,  Brooke 
selecting  a  horn  and  Breckie  a  small  merry-go-round. 

Meanwhile  Breck  had  given  some  of  his  possessions  to  the 
Crescent  Christmas  tree  and  an  armload  more,  including  that 
one  of  his  two  boy  dolls  which  still  bore  the  name  of  Mammy's 
first  husband,  to  a  little  girl  named  Montana  whose  mother 
cooked  for  us  during  the  Christmas  holidays.  He  chose  him- 
self the  toys  he  wanted  to  give  with  only  such  help  from  me 
in  deciding  as  he  seemed  to  need.  I  was  careful  not  to  sug- 
gest the  things  he  especially  loved  and  which  I  knew  were  as 
strongly  bound  up  in  his  associations  as  my  dear  possessions 
were  in  mine. 

"Dat  was  kind  of  me,"  he  said,  "to  give  my  fings  to  Montana 
— " — and  he  said  it  quite  as  naturally  as  he  said  "Dat  was  kind 
of  Juliette  to  make  me  dose  animal  cwackers,  wasn't  it,  Bop- 
pie  ?" — munching  as  he  spoke  on  a  fish  or  a  bear. 

Both  children  hung  up  their  stockings  Christmas  night  by 
the  chimney  in  my  study  and  dashed  in,  clad  in  wrappers  and 
slippers,  early  Christmas  morning  to  open  them.  They  had  many 
similar  things,  for  Aunt  Jane  had  given  them  both  new  buckets 
and  shovels,  Florence  balls,  Juliette  little  aluminum  cooking 
utensils,  Liliane  small  horses  and  wagons,  and  Dick  and  I  sets 
of  sailors  and  boats.  But  from  others  came  separate  things  and 
Breckie  was  more  taken  with  a  diminutive  cannon  and  a  whistle 
which  Brooke's  mother  had  sent  for  his  stocking  than  with 
everything  which  fell  to  his  own  share.  He  did  not  ask  for 
them  or  appear  to  think  himself  unfairly  dealt  with  because  he 
had  no  whistle  or  cannon,  but  the  wistful  look  on  his  face  when 
he  spoke  of  them  so  acted  upon  Juliette  that  she  took  him  down 
town  at  once  and  bought  a  whistle  for  him  quite  as  noisy  as 
Brooke's  and  a  goodly  green  cannon  with  a  handle  in  its  rear 
which  could  be  pulled  out  and  snapped  back  by  investigating  lit- 
tle hands. 

In  Brooke's  box  from  his  mother  had  come  some  candy  which 


BRECKIE   AND   BROOKE 


I 


BRECKIE  163 

went  into  his  stocking  and  which  Breck  regarded  with  awe. 
Later,  when  he  saw  Brooke  nibbling  the  end  of  a  pink  and  white 
stick,  he  asked :  "Are  you  eating  poison  ?'* 

Several  new  books  fell  to  the  share  of  both  boys.  My  mother 
gave  Breck  a  copy  of  "Uncle  Remus" — such  as  had  gladdened 
our  nursery  when  she  read  to  us  tales,  some  of  which  had  been 
told  to  her  on  the  plantation  in  her  own  childhood.  We  thought 
Breck  old  enough  for  "Brer  Rabbit,"  "Brer  Tarrapin,"  "Brer 
Fox,"  "Ole  Sis  Goose,"  "Miss  Medders"  and  "De  Gals"  and  all 
the  rest  and  he  did  listen  attentively  to  bits  at  a  time — ^but,  like 
the  stories  in  the  "Jungle  Book"  and  "Hollow  Tree  Nights  and 
Days"  (which  came  to  Brooke  from  his  mother),  they  were  still 
too  far  in  advance  of  his  development  for  him  to  give  them  pro- 
longed attention. 

He  liked  better  the  "Story  of  Little  Black  Sambo"  which 
Brooke  received  and  a  copy  of  the  "Volland"  edition  of  "Mother 
Goose"  sent  him  by  his  Uncle  Clifton.  He  wanted  this  read  to 
him  every  evening  and  often  several  times  a  day  as  well.  One 
day  he  opened  it  up  before  Juliette  and  recited  rhyme  after 
rhyme,  slowly  turning  the  pages.  But  when  he  came  to  the  old 
woman  in  the  shoe  he  said:  "I  won't  wead  about  her.  She's  a 
wicked  woman." 

Sometimes  he  sat  in  my  lap  while  I  read  this  loved  book  and 
laid  one  plump  hand  right  over  the  print,  then  looked  up  at  me 
and  smiled  to  show  me  he  knew  which  the  print  was  and  that  I 
couldn't  see  to  read  when  he  covered  it.  He  quoted  from 
"Mother  Goose"  often.  One  afternoon  he  said  to  his  Aunt 
Jane :  "Teddy  lives  on  fiddles  and  dwink  and,  Aunt  Jane,  he  can 
never  be  quiet." 

Three  Mother  Goose  rhymes  which  he  seemed  especially  to 
like  were  the  one  about  the  snail  who  "stuck  out  her  horns  like 
a  little  Kyloe  cow,"  and  this  one: 

Ride  away,  ride  away,  Johnny  shall  ride, 
And  he  shall  have  pussy  cat  tied  to  one  side ; 
And  he  shall  have  little  dog  tied  to  the  other, 
And  Johnny  shall  ride  to  see  his  grandmother. 


i64  BRECKIE 

And  this  one: 

There  was  an  old  woman 

Sold  puddings  and  pies; 
She  went  to  the  mill 

And  dust  flew  in  her  eyes. 
While  through  the  streets 
To  all  she  meets 

She  ever  cries 

"Hot  pies— Hot  pies." 

I  wrote  in  my  journal:  "The  thought  of  food  runs  much  in 
Breckie's  mind.  Not  long  ago  he  sat  in  my  lap  announcing  that 
he  would  have  four  children  when  he  grew  up.  'And,  Boppie,' 
he  said,  *I  will  give  dem  plenty  to  eat — and  I  will  give  my  wife 
plenty  to  eat — and  I  will  give  you  plenty  to  eat,  too,  Boppie — 
and  I  will  have  plenty  to  eat  myself.'  " 

One  day  he  was  blowing  his  nose  on  a  handkerchief  of  mine  of 
which  he  had  the  use  and  remarked :  "Dat's  a  big  hankispuss  for 
a  little  boy  like  me.*' 

He  heard  the  word  "camouflage"  used  at  about  this  time  and 
asked  its  meaning.  His  father  then  told  him  that  when  a  girl 
painted  her  face  that  was  camouflage,  "Did  you  camouflage 
your  face?"  some  one  asked  Breckie,  whose  cheeks  were  like 
a  Ben  Davis  apple.  "God  camouflaged  my  face,*'  he  answered 
at  once. 

The  Christmas  season  changed  for  awhile  the  trend  of  the 
Fred  and  Lucy  and  Bumbleton  stories.  This  adventure- 
some trio  happened  upon  a  cave  in  the  forest  inhabited  by  a 
gnome  who  was  wholly  good  natured  if  only  you  didn't  waken 
him  when  he  wanted  to  sleep.  He  had  a  Christmas  tree  in  his 
cave  and  all  sorts  of  wonderful  toys  and  when  the  children  es- 
caped in  there  from  the  sallies  of  the  wicked  radiator  or  the  wild 
pigs  they  each  chose  something  they  wanted  to  play  with  while 
Bumbleton  rolled  a  ball  around  with  his  nose. 

Now  when  Breckie  asked  me  to  tell  him  about  Fwed  and 
Lucy  and  Bumbleton  he  added  "Tell  about  de  gnome's  cave." 


I 


BRECKIE  165 

He  often  repeated  these  stories  to  Juliette — at  first  beginning 
them  in  English,  because  he  insisted  they  couldn't  be  told  in 
French,  but  later,  when  she  insisted  that  they  could  be,  he  told 
them  to  her  in  French. 

43 

During  all  of  the  Christmas  holidays  the  unusual  bitter  cold 
continued  and  far  on  into  January.  The  children  played  out 
in  the  snow  every  day  but  one,  when  the  temperature  never 
rose  above  zero,  with  B reek's  sled  which  held  two  nicely.  The 
trains  were  running  most  irregularly  and  sometimes  not  at  all, 
but  the  school  re-opened  on  time  and,  amongst  the  other  students, 
there  came  back  B reek's  cousin  Foncie.  She  brought  both  lit- 
tle boys  some  tiny  beasts  from  amongst  which  there  fell  to 
B reek's  share  a  diminutive  monkey.  Late  one  snowy  afternoon 
my  aunt,  sitting  before  her  open  fire  with  the  children  playing 
near  her,  heard  Breck  say  to  Brooke:  "Why  can't  de  monkey 
play  wid  de  bear?    He  would  be  fwiendly." 

They  were  fond  of  taking  possession  of  every  chair  in  her 
room  except  the  one  she  sat  on,  even  casting  covetous  eyes  upon 
that  (Breck  suggested  in  a  whisper  to  Brooke,  on  one  occasion, 
"Let's  gwab  it  away  fwom  her!"),  inverting  them  and  then 
covering  them  with  a  shawl  for  caves.  From  such  a  dark  recess 
she  overheard  them  confabulating  one  day,  and  what  was  her 
horror  at  the  same  time  to  see  Brooke's  large  wooden  cannon 
which  shot  real  balls  trained  upon  her  and  to  hear  Breck  de- 
clare bloodthirstily ;  "She's  de  Kaiser,  isn't  she,  Bwooke  ?"  Here 
she  raised  an  outcry  and  Breckie  was  the  first  to  reach  her  and 
soothe  her  by  saying:  "You're  not  de  Kaiser,  Aunt  Jane;  we 
won't  shoot  you.     I  was  playing  only." 

On  another  cold  afternoon  when  we  had  to  come  in  earlier 
than  usual  the  children  popped  corn  over  the  coals  of  my 
sitting  room  fire  and  ate  what  they  had  popped,  honorably  spit- 
ting out  the  hard  centers  of  each  grain. 

Breck  had  a  wholesome  respect  for  fire.  His  attitude  towards 
all  blazes  was  one  of  caution,  but  he  was  still  so  young  that  we 
made  it  a  law  he  should  never  try  to  take  down  the  heavy  screen 


i66  BRECKIE 

from  in  front  of  our  sitting  room  fire.  Once  or  twice  I  found 
him  slipping  the  poker  in  behind  it  and  held  his  hand  close 
enough  to  the  flames  to  show  him  how  it  would  feel  to  burn. 
One  day  after  breakfast,  when  he  had  run  out  of  the  dining  room 
ahead  of  his  father,  Dick  found  him  poking  the  big  wood  fire  in 
the  great  hall.  To  his  reproachful:  "Breckinridge,  you  might 
fall  in  and  bum  up,"  Breck  replied :  "If  I  did  Teddy  would  turn 
me  into  a  bear  and  pull  me  out." 

Teddy,  in  appearance  as  meek  and  unassuming  a  little  brown 
Teddy  bear  as  one  could  wish,  had  become  a  sort  of  omnipotent 
creature  with  Breckie,  who  exalted  him  on  all  occasions.  Their 
relations  were  at  first  of  a  far  simpler  character.  Teddy  had 
been  a  loved  possession  since  Breck's  second  summer,  and  his 
little  master  was  quite  content  as  he  matured  to  call  himself 
first  Teddy's  mother,  then  his  father,  to  rock  him,  sing  to  him 
sometimes,  talk  with  him  often,  and  sleep  with  him  always.  But 
latterly  he  had  begun  to  ascribe  to  Teddy  superhuman  char- 
acteristics. One  day  Brooke  was  talking  of  earthquakes  and 
said  he  could  shoot  his  pistol  and  cause  an  earthquake.  Breck 
replied  at  once  that  Teddy  could  do  that.  Teddy,  he  said,  could 
make  the  Crescent  fall  down  and  all  the  houses  in  Eureka 
Springs.  He  could  make  the  houses  fall  in  the  ocean,  and,  re- 
ported JuHette,  who  told  me  of  the  conversation,  "ecwaser  (ecra- 
ser)  tout  le  monde." 

"Pourquoi  laissez-vous  Teddy  faire  ga?"  she  asked,  when  she 
had  listened  to  this  deification  of  Teddy. 

"O,  Teddy  veut  le  faire,"  replied  Breckinridge.  "11  n'ecoute 
pas.    II  fait  ce  qu'il  veut." 

He  and  his  father  were  one  day  working  together  and  dif- 
fered over  some  detail  of  construction  about  which  each  had 
positive  convictions.  Breck  at  once  said  that  Teddy  had  told 
him  to  do  so  and  so. 

"But  I  tell  you  not  to,"  said  Dick,  "and  I  say  that  I  am  the 
boss  of  this  job." 

"Teddy  say  he  is  de  boss,"  replied  Teddy's  master,  nothing 
daunted. 

I  find  written  in  my  journal :    "The  crisis  does  not  arise  which 


BRECKIE  167 

Teddy  can't  meet  nor  the  situation  exist  which  Teddy  can't  dupli- 
cate or  excel.  When  B,  bless  her,  just  before  the  holidays  be- 
came Mrs.  Paul,  some  remark  was  made  to  Breckie,  always  fond 
of  her,  that  Dr.  Paul  had  gotten  ahead  of  him.  He  replied  at 
once :    "Teddy  got  ahead  of  Dr.  Paul." 


44 

Soon  after  New  Year's  we  began  simple  plans  for  Breck's 
fourth  birthday  on  the  twelfth,  which  led  Brooke  to  describe 
the  orgie  of  dissipation  he  intended  to  have  on  his  birthday  the 
following  May.  When  the  two  children  were  in  the  Dairy  Hol- 
low with  Juliette  one  day  he  began  planning  for  this  May  festival 
and  enumerating  the  things  he  would  have  to  eat : 

"Ice  cream,"  he  said,  "and  cake  and  candy." 

"And  castor  oil,"  supplemented  Breckie,  looking  solemnly  at 
him. 

A  few  days  before  Breck's  birthday  Juliette  fell  ill,  first  with 
a  heavy  cold  and  then  with  a*  frontal  sinus  infection  which  made 
it  necessary  for  her  to  go  to  the  hospital  for  a  slight  operation 
on  her  nose.  Of  course  she  was  absent  for  the  twelfth,  but  what 
hurt  her  most  was  the  fact  that  the  small  drums  which  had  been 
in  town  at  Christmas  time  were  all  sold  out  and  she  couldn't 
get  one  for  Breck.  She  had  told  him  he  was  to  have  it  on  his 
birthday  and  although  he,  most  reasonable  of  children,  appeared 
satisfied  with  the  finality  of  explanation  that  the  drums  were  all 
sold  out,  she  said  she  knew  he  had  set  his  heart  on  one  and  she 
couldn't  bear  to  have  him  disappointed.  I  told  her  we  would 
send  off  and  get  one  later  and  that  he  had  so  much  he  was  not 
missing  it  now. 

I  explained  to  him,  when  Juliette  failed  to  appear  one  morning 
just  before  his  birthday,  that  she  was  sick. 

"Will  she  die?"  he  asked,  turning  his  large  eyes  full  upon 
me. 

"Why,  no,  my  darling,"  I  answered,  "she  is  not  very  sick. 
Why  did  you  think  she  would  die?" 

He  answered :    "Ammeline  Wobertson  was  sick  and  she  died." 


OF  THE  FIFTH  YEAR— ELEVEN  DAYS 


The  passing  of  the  sweetest  soul 
That  ever  look'd  with  human  eyes. 


— Tennyson. 


BRECKINRIDGE'S  birthday  morning  was  bitter  cold  but  he 
went  out  with  Aunt  Jane,  Brooke,  and  me  in  the  snow.  We 
came  in  at  the  regular  hour  and  I  gave  the  two  boys  their  bath 
and  crackers  and  milk,  after  which  I  put  Breckie  to  sleep  with 
Teddy  out  on  his  balcony,  where  a  very  icy  Boreas  tried  vainly 
to  reach  his  snugly  enveloped  little  friend.  It  was  only  after  his 
nap  that  the  real  celebrations  for  the  day  began. 

The  children  had  dinner  as  usual  except  that  for  dessert  there 
was  the  birthday  cake.  Mrs.  Jordan  had  made  it,  not  the  sponge 
of  the  year  before  but  of  war  flour,  covered  with  powdered 
sugar.  I  asked  Breckie  if  he  wanted  me  to  light  it  before 
bringing  it  in  or  would  he  rather  stick  the  candles  on  and  light 
it  himself.  Naturally  he  chose  to  do  it  himself.  He  stuck  the 
four  candles  on  in  their  holders  and  then,  his  little  hands  trem- 
bling with  eagerness,  struck  a  match  and  lighted  the  candles.  It 
took  more  than  one  match,  for  the  lighter  was  not  expert  and 
had  a  wholesome  dread  of  burnt  fingers. 

After  we  had  all  stood  around  the  cake  admiringly,  came  the 
added  joy  of  blowing  out  the  candles  and  cutting  the  cake.  This 
Breckie  did  himself,  with  a  little  help,  and  then  handed  the  slices 
around,  beginning  with  the  ladies  and  ending  with  his  father  and 
Brooke.  Then  he  chose  a  comfortably  spacious  piece  for  himself 
and  sat  down  in  the  chair  that  had  been  his  Uncle  Clifton's  to  eat 
it — his  expression  one  of  unmixed  satisfaction. 

When  the  dinner  trays  had  been  cleared  away  I  brought  out 
two  bowls  of  warm  water  and  Japanese  flowers,  presented  by 
cousin  Foncie,  which  delighted  the  children  as  they  opened  up 
before  their  eyes.  Next  I  handed  around  (and  there  were 
enough  for  us  all)  a  new  variety  of  soap  bubble  pipe — and  when 
this  pleasure  had  been  exhausted  I  produced  two  little  books, 

171 


172  BRECKIE 

all  by  the  same  loving  donor,  with  pictures  to  paste  in  them — one 
for  each  boy — and  the  pasting  began. 

Breckie's  special  birthday  presents  from  the  rest  of  us  were 
also  given  him.  First  two  dozen  large  new  flat  blocks,  whose 
addition  to  the  basket  made  it  so  heavy  that  Breck  could  scarcely 
lift  it,  in  gay  colored  boxes.  We  handed  one  to  each  little  boy 
to  open.  Next  several  new  books,  among  them  two  his  father 
and  I  gave  him  which  we  had  had  Brentano  import  from  France. 
Both  were  illustrated  by  Georges  Delaw — the  one  a  collection  of 
mythological  tales,  and  the  other  the  immortal  Contes  de  Per- 
rault.  Breck  had  these  books  such  a  short  time  before  leaving 
them  that  I  can't  say  what  impression  they  would  have  made 
on  his  mind.  I  read  him  "Le  Petit  Chaperon  Rouge"  and  "Le 
Chat  Botte,"  which  he  liked  well  enough,  but  not  as  yet  in  the 
adoring  way  with  which  he  greeted  Mother  Goose  and  such 
jolly  old  French  equivalents  as  "Le  Roi  Dagobert"  and  "La 
Legende  de  Saint  Nicholas." 

The  day  closed  with  a  run  out  of  doors  and  the  usual  bedtime 
stories.  Weeks  afterwards  Brooke  sometimes  said  reminiscently 
to  his  grandmother :  ''Didn't  we  do  beautiful  things  on  Breckin- 
ridge's birthday?" 


The  morning  after  B reek's  birthday  as  soon  as  he  waked,  and 
while  he  still  lay  in  his  covers  with  Teddy,  he  asked  me  if  a 
four-year-old  boy  was  old  enough  to  eat  pie.  Upon  my  replying 
in  the  negative  he  said:  "Teddy  made  me  a  pie,  but  I  didn't 
eat  only  de  apple  part.    Teddy  ate  de  wooden  part." 

The  thirteenth  was  Sunday,  with  Juliette  still  sick,  but  I  per- 
suaded Aunt  Jane  to  go  to  her  church  and  let  me  scamper  out 
in  the  snow  with  the  two  little  boys.  As  we  were  returning  to 
Crescent  along  the  ridge  of  the  mountain  Breck  suddenly  an- 
nounced :    "Boppie,  I  don't  want  to  die." 

I  turned  to  gaze  at  him  in  astonishment.  There  he  stood, 
firmly  planted  in  the  snow,  an  embodiment  of  sturdy  childhood, 
informed  with  life  in  every  hardy  fibre  of  his  make-up.  How 
could  I  divine  that  in  less  than  twelve  days  he  would  be  dead  ? 


I  BRECKIE  173 

f  No  psychical  sense  in  me  was  stirred,  I  had  no  prophetic  pre- 

monitions. On  the  contrary  my  first  almost  unconscious  exclama- 
tion, as  I  looked  down  at  him  and  smiled,  was:  "But,  my 
darling,  you  aren't  going  to  die." 

Then  I  recollected  myself  and  asked:  "Why  don't  you  want 
to  die?" 

"Ammeline  Wobertson  died,"  he  replied  at  once,  "and  dey  put 
her  in  de  gwound." 

"O,  my  baby,"  I  cried,  deeply  moved,  "it  was  only  her  body 
that  they  put  in  the  ground  and  she  didn't  want  it  any  more. 
She  had  left  it  behind  her.  She  did  not  need  it  any  more 
than  you  do  the  clothes  that  are  too  small  for  you.  She 
went  .  .  ." 

"To  heaven,"  said  Brooke. 

"To  de  seashore  of  endless  worlds,"  said  Breckinridge. 

With  all  my  heart  in  my  voice  I  tried  to  put  before  these  lit- 
tle children  a  vision  of  that  principle  of  life  "which  does  not 
admit  of  death."  I  reminded  Breckie  that  his  sister  had  died 
and  what  happy  things  we  said  about  her.  I  told  him  again  of 
the  little  dogs  he  had  loved,  and  soon  the  thought  of  the  baby 
and  the  dogs  romping  together  wrought  its  old  charm  upon  his 
imagination.  But  he  hadn't  finished  with  the  subject.  "Will 
you  go  dere,  Boppie  ?"  he  asked. 

"Pidgy,  darling,"  I  answered  him,  "it's  likely  Boppie  would  go 
ahead  of  you — but  she  doesn't  want  to  go  and  she  doesn't  see  why 
she  should  have  to  go  before  you  are  a  man  grown  up  and  don't 
need  her  here.  She  isn't  going  to  be  separated  from  you  ever 
if  she  can  help  it.  If  you  ever  do  go  ahead  of  her  she  is  com- 
ing to  you  just  as  soon  as  she  can.  And  everybody  goes  there, 
you  know,  some  day.     Nobody  is  separated  long." 

"Will  my  mother  be  there?"  asked  Brooke,  "and  my  Jam- 
mie?" 

"Will  gweat  f aver  be  dere  ?"  asked  Breckie,  meaning  his  great- 
grandfather Breckinridge,  of  whose  picture  in  his  uniform  of  a 
Confederate  general  he  was  fond. 

I  answered  them  as  the  charioteer  once  did  Prince  Sidhartha, 
that  everybody  not  now  living  had  died  and  that  those  of  us 


174  BRECKIE 

who  lived  would  all  taste  of  death.  But  I  bore  in  concluding 
on  the  aliveness  of  being  dead  and  the  happy  times  people 
could  go  on  having  wherever  they  went.  I  could  not  give 
descriptions  and  the  children  did  not  ask  for  them.  When  I  told 
them  they  would  be  happy  I  knew  I  had  said  enough,  since  both 
were  happy  children  and  would  naturally  translate  the  idea  of 
a  happy  condition  anywhere  into  such  pleasing  images  as  their 
lives  had  experienced  and  their  minds  could  comprehend. 

When  we  had  finished  talking  about  it  and  were  nearing  the 
house  Breckie  came  close  to  me  and,  slipping  his  little  hand  in  its 
worsted  glove  into  mine  in  the  way  he  so  often  did,  said :  "Bop- 
pie,  I  love  you/' 


We  had  expected  to  inoculate  the  new  students  with  the 
typhoid  and  para-typhoid  vaccine  that  afternoon  and  I  had  got- 
ten out  a  small  electric  sterilizer  of  Dr.  Bolton's  which  we  used 
for  boiling  up  the  needles.  But  the  doctor  telephoned  that  his 
little  daughter  Phyllis  was  too  ill  with  pneumonia  for  him  to  be 
willing  to  leave  her  and  the  inoculations  were  deferred.  Breckie 
had  observed  the  sterilizer  on  top  of  a  bookcase  and  with  an 
anxious  look  at  me  asked:  *'Are  we  going  to  be  stuck?"  He 
was  relieved  at  once  when  I  told  him  that  my  soldier  had  finished 
with  inoculations  for  some  years  to  come. 

Dick  had  planned  to  take  both  boys  in  his  car  that  afternoon  to 
get  them  out  of  the  way  of  our  little  clinic,  and  when  we  didn't 
hold  a  clinic  he  took  them  anyhow  to  give  me  a  couple  of 
hours  in  which  to  get  caught  up  with  some  important  Red 
Cross  nursing  correspondence.  They  left  the  car  about  a  mile 
out  of  town,  he  told  me,  on  the  site  of  the  great  highway  soon 
to  be  constructed,  and  went  on  foot  to  a  hog  farm — both  children 
collecting  such  treasures  of  nature  as  the  snow-covered  ground 
afforded  en  route.  When  they  retraced  their  steps  towards  the 
place  where  they  had  left  the  car  somebody  dropped  the  sup- 
position like  a  bomb  in  the  group — suppose  they  didn'^t  find  it 
there?  However,  when  they  rounded  a  bend  in  the  road  it  came 
in  sight  and  Breck  cried  out :    "Dere  it  is !" 


BRECKIE  175 

I  The  next  three  days  continued  cold — ^but  ideally  clear  and  in- 

vigorating. Our  little  boys  coasted  every  day,  especially  down 
the  road  known  as  the  Crescent  grade.  No  automobiles  were 
running  and  only  a  few  wagons  loaded  with  wood  or  coal  inter- 
rupted their  sport.  Brooke  sat  in  front  on  the  sled  and  guided, 
while  Breckie,  with  his  serious  play-expression,  seated  himself 
behind  and  planted  his  goloshes  well  up  out  of  the  snow  on 
either  side.  I  gave  shoves  or  ran  ahead  with  the  rope  to  get  a 
good  start  for  them.  Then  the  coasting  began — only  to  terminate 
after  a  few  feet  in  the  snow  drifts  on  one  side  or  the  other  of 
the  road.  Sometimes  I  pulled  them  both  on  the  sled  or  one  of 
them  pulled  the  other.  Usually  when  the  time  came  for  going 
in  and  the  children  seemed  a  bit  tired  and  fretful  I  enlivened 
the  last  few  hundred  yards  of  our  way  back  with  a  Fred  and 
Lucy  and  Bumbleton  story. 

These  three  immortals  had  lately  taken  to  encountering  floods 
of  water  and  being  carried  off  on  driftwood  and  landed  on  tiny 
islands.  Just  as  starvation  would  seem  to  be  staring  them  in 
the  face  a  basket  or  a  small  boat  came  floating  by  and  in  it 
they  found  prunes,  bread,  butter,  sometimes  even  bottles  of  milk 
like  those  in  which  I  pasteurized  the  two  quarts  of  milk  drunk 
daily  by  the  two  Bs.  This  unexpected  succor,  floated  down  to 
them  often  by  the  friendly  gnome  from  the  mouth  of  his  cave, 
consumed  and  want  again  staring  them  in  the  face,  suddenly  one 
of  them  spied  a  white  sail  in  the  offing  and  Roger,  like  a  glorious 
bird,  came  swooping  to  their  rescue,  or  else  they  heard  a  sharp 
putt,  putt,  putt  and  Roger  in  a  motorboat  skudded  across  the 
water  and  took  them  in. 

On  the  morning  of  the  sixteenth  there  came  an  unexpected 
pleasure.  One  of  the  grocers'  assistants  in  town,  inspired  by 
the  protracted  reign  of  snow  and  ice,  made  some  runners  for  the 
body  of  his  delivery  wagon,  hitched  a  horse  to  the  combination 
and  glided  about  town  with  his  deliveries  on  the  only  sleigh  I  had 
ever  seen  in  this  region.  This  dazzling  object  dashed  past  us 
one  day  and  I  had  made  up  my  mind  what  I  should  do  if  we 
met  it  again.  Sure  enough  on  the  morning  of  the  sixteenth  here 
it  came  and  I  hailed  it,  asking  the  good-natured  driver  if  our 


176  BRECKIE 

two  little  boys  could  not  climb  in  with  the  groceries  and  take  a 
ride.  The  words  were  hardly  out  of  my  mouth  and  permission 
had  not  yet  left  his  before  they  had  scrambled  in  and  settled 
themselves  in  part  on  the  seat  beside  him,  in  part  among  his  pro- 
visions. He  touched  up  his  horse  and  away  they  glided  over  the 
snow  on  what  was  for  Breck  at  least  an  entirely  novel  adven- 
ture. 

Aunt  Jane  and  I  followed,  dragging  the  sled,  to  join  company 
with  our  enchanted  boys  at  the  last  delivery  in  that  neighborhood. 
It  was  a  wonderful  experience  and  Breck  sang  with  me  '^Jingle 
Bells,  Jingle  Bells,  Jingle  All  the  Way"  when  I  was  getting  him 
ready  for  his  nap.  Another  chapter  had  closed  in  his  book  of 
Happy  Day  House. 


Word  reached  us  one  afternoon  this  week  of  the  death  by 
pneumonia  at  a  camp  in  Arizona  of  a  young  cousin  In  the  regu- 
lar army,  Lieutenant  Breckinridge  Ten  Eycke,  my  father's  great- 
nephew — the  first  of  our  family  to  give  up  his  life  'since  we 
entered  the  war.  I  was  reading  to  the  children  before  Aunt 
Jane's  fire  when  my  mother  came  in  with  this  sad  news.  I  had 
Breckie  on  my  lap.  Instinctively  I  held  him  closer  while  I 
tried  to  keep  back  the  tears,  so  that  he  would  see  the  glory 
rather  than  the  pain  in  the  explanation  I  gave  him  of  a  soldier's 
death. 


The  morning  of  Thursday  the  seventeenth  Breckie  woke  in  his 
accustomed  splendid  health,  drank  his  orange  juice  and  later 
ate  his  breakfast  of  oatmeal  and  milk  and  bread  and  butter  with 
his  father  and  Brooke  with  his  usual  full  appetite.  Afterwards 
Aunt  Jane  and  I  took  the  children  out  and  they  played  as  they 
had  been  doing  at  coasting  on  the  sled  down  the  Crescent  grade. 
Often  they  tumbled  off  in  the  snow  without  feeling  the  least 
inconvenience  or  pain. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  hill  I  pulled  them  both  on  the  sled  and 
while  I  was  toiling  along  I   said  "fiddlesticks"  in  reply  to  a 


i  BRECKIE  177 

^  foolish  comment  of  theirs.     I  heard  Breck,  sitting  very  com- 

placent and  fat  on  the  sled,  in  his  blue  military  coat  and  soldier's 
helmet,  say  to  his  cousin:  "She's  fiddlesticks  herself,  isn't  she 
Bwooke?" 

Everybody  seemed  very  cheerful  and  well  until  we  had  climbed 
the  mountain  and  were  nearly  home.  Then  we  remembered  that 
we  had  to  stop  at  Mrs.  Jordan's  for  bread.  We  turned  into 
the  little  side  street,  much  encumbered  in  its  snow  drifts  with 
the  sled,  and  I  suggested  to  Breck  that  he  stay  there  with  Aunt 
Jane  while  I  ran  to  the  house  for  the  bread.  To  my  surprise 
Breckinridge  began  to  cry  in  what  seemed  like  the  most  unrea- 
sonable manner.  I  left  him  with  Aunt  Jane  talking  soothingly, 
saw  Mrs.  Jordan,  got  the  bread  and  fresh  eggs,  and  returned  to 
find  Breckie  now  crying  loudly  and  beyond  explanations.  I  knew 
of  course  that  there  was  a  physiological  cause  back  of  this  un- 
wonted outburst,  though  how  grave  a  one  I  could  not  suspect, 
and  my  first  thought  was  that  he  must  be  over  tired  and  sleepy. 
I  attempted  to  soothe  him,  but  he  wouldn't  let  me,  crying  out: 
"Boppie,  I  am  ashamed  of  you."  Then,  as  we  moved  on  to- 
wards Crescent  I  tried  to  divert  him  with  Fred  and  Lucy  and 
Bumbleton,  only  to  receive  the  retort:  "Don't  speak  to  me, 
Boppie,  I  am  vexed  wif  you.    I  am  ashamed  of  you." 

I  realized  that  he  was  not  in  a  frame  of  mind  to  listen  to 
me  then  but  I  thought  that  after  he  had  slept  we  could  talk  to- 
gether and  come  to  an  explanation  of  his  exceptional  conduct,  and 
what  had  led  to  it.  He  had  quieted  somewhat  before  we  reached 
the  college  but  was  still  disposed  to  be  contentious.  As  the  chil- 
dren were  undressing  and  I  ran  the  water  for  their  baths  I  re- 
marked upon  having  overlooked  weighing  Breck  on  his  birthday 
and  said  I  must  do  it  that  afternoon  without  fail,  and  Brooke 
too. 

Whereupon  Breckie,  not  ordinarily  in  the  least  self-seeking,  ex- 
claimed :    "Weigh  me  first." 

"There  is  a  verse  in  the  Bible,"  I  replied  too  sententiously, 
"about  the  man  who  wants  to  come  first  being  last." 

"In  my  Bible,"  said  Breck,  "it  say  weigh  I  first  and  Bwooke 
afterwards." 


178  BRECKIE 

However,  when  he  had  had  his  warm  bath  and  warm  milk 
and  graham  cracker,  and  Had  been  cuddled  and  loved  a  little 
with  fond  endearments,  he  seemed  to  feel  soothed  and  went  to 
sleep  with  Teddy  out  on  his  balcony  in  the  cold,  clean  air. 

He  woke  while  I  was  at  dinner  and  Blanche  had  him  nearly 
dressed  when  I  came  up  stairs.  I  saw  nothing  unusual  in  him 
and  proceeded  to  get  his  and  Brooke's  dinner  ready  for  two-fif- 
teen. It  consisted  of  rare  tenderloin  steak,  baked  potato,  aspara- 
gus tips,  with  a  cup  of  milk  and  a  baked  apple  for  dessert — 
such  a  dinner  as  Breck  usually  attacked  with  an  irreproachable 
appetite.  To  my  complete  astonishment  he  refused  it.  He  did 
not  even  want  to  taste  it.  I  asked  him  if  he  felt  badly  and  he 
said  no — but  naturally  I  did  not  urge  his  eating. 

A  little  later  he  began  to  vomit  and  said  that  his  stomach  felt 
sick.  I  told  him  to  put  his  hand  on  the  place  and  he  laid  it  over 
the  pit  of  his  stomach.  I  was  not  at  all  uneasy  though  per- 
plexed as  to  what  could  have  upset  his  perfect  digestion.  It 
had  been  arranged  that  Blanche  was  to  take  the  children  out 
that  afternoon  so  that  Aunt  Jane  and  I  could  get  some  impor- 
tant letters  written — but  I  sent  her  off  without  Breckie  and 
dropped  everything  to  take  care  of  him.  I  suggested  a  dose  of 
castor  oil  and  he  replied  at  once : 

"Boppie,  I  will  take  it  like  a  soldier.''  Many  hours  later  it 
was  a  relief  to  my  mind  to  remember  that  he  vomited  it  at 
once  as  well  as  a  second  dose  for  which  he  begged,  thinking  it 
would  make  him  feel  better. 

This  vomiting  did  not  come  quickly.  He  always  had  time  to 
run  to  the  bath  room.  I  ran  with  him  and  supported  his  fore- 
head, and  once,  when  he  got  there  ahead  of  me,  I  found  him 
holding  his  own  forehead  with  one  little  brown  hand.  He  rinsed 
his  mouth  carefully  every  time  afterwards  and  sometimes  said: 
"Dat's  better,  Boppie." 

He  did  not  seem  to  be  in  the  least  pain  or  to  be  ill — ^but  was 
listless  and  indifferent  to  his  usual  pleasures.  I  suggested  his 
blocks,  but  he  wasn't  interested  in  them.  Then  I  tried  books. 
He  climbed  in  my  lap  and  I  began  to  read  the  Mother  Goose 
rhymes  for  which  his  appetite  was  usually  insatiable.    But  after 


BRECKIE  179 

I  had  read  only  two  he  pushed  the  book  away,  saying:  "Dat's 
all,  Boppie." 

All  he  wanted  was  to  sit  quietly  in  my  lap  with  his  head  on 
my  shoulder  or,  as  he  put  it:  ''Boppie,  I  want  to  lie  in  your 
arms,"  and  so  we  sat  most  of  the  afternoon.  Once  when  his 
nausea  seemed  to  have  cleared  up  I  suggested  that  we  go  down- 
stairs and  get  weighed  on  the  big  scales.  He  consented,  but 
they  were  locked  up  in  the  store  room.  So  he  didn't  get  weighed. 
The  sight  of  Joe's  plumber's  fire  in  the  pantry  and  Joe's  work 
with  it  excited  only  a  flickering  interest. 

I  then  brought  him  back,  his  little  feet  climbing  the  familiar 
stairs  for  the  last  time  had  we  but  known  it,  and  undressed 
him,  putting  on  his  night  clothes  with  the  "pattes  d'ours"  and 
his  fleecy  red  wrapper  and  Puss-in-Boots  slippers.  Then  I  held 
him  again  until  supper  time.  I  got  Brooke's  supper  ready  and 
offered  Breck  milk,  but  he  took  only  a  swallow  or  two  before 
pushing  it  away. 

During  the  remainder  of  this  first  evening  of  an  illness  that 
seemed  so  light  and  was  to  be  so  terrible  I  sat  and  held  him, 
until  it  was  time  to  lay  him  in  his  little  indoor  bed  by  mine, 
and  as  we  sat  we  ran  over  in  imagination  some  of  our  loved 
fancies.  He  was  the  little  woolly  wolf  and  I  the  mother  woolly 
wolf  in  the  cave,  he  the  cub  bear  and  I  the  mother  bear  in  the 
hollow  tree,  he  Tweet  Tweet  and  I  the  mother  bird — ^but  mostly 
he  was  Jimmie,  very  cuddly  and  loving,  and  I  Sheepblossom  who 
petted  him. 

When  I  had  put  him  to  bed  I  sat  in  the  adjoining  room  writ- 
ing in  my  journal.  I  wrote:  "My  Breckie  has  not  been  well 
to-day,  nauseated — so  rare  in  his  hearty  life."  I  was  not  in  the 
least  uneasy  about  him.  Although  digestive  disturbances  were 
rare  with  him  he  had  been  nauseated  before  and  at  times  equally 
without  apparent  cause.  I  recalled  to  mind  and  told  my  mother 
and  Aunt  Jane  of  a  day  in  his  third  year  when  he  had  vomited 
off  and  on  all  day  and  had  had  no  other  symptom,  not  even  a 
temperature  or  weakened  pulse,  appearing  to  be  affected  just 
about  as  he  was  now.  The  thing  had  cleared  up  of  itself  during 
the  night  and  the  next  day  found  him  as  well  as  usual.    Never- 


i8o  BRECKIE 

theless  I  would  have  had  the  doctor  look  him  over,  as  I  had  done 
on  previous  occasions  of  digestive  disturbance,  if  Dr.  Bolton's 
little  daughter  had  not  been  dangerously  ill  just  at  this  time 
and  his  mind  and  time  wholly  given  over  to  her  needs. 

On  the  night  of  the  seventeenth  Breck  did  not  rest  well,  wak- 
ing several  times  to  vomit  or  just  to  call  out  to  me.  I  reached 
him  in  an  instant.  Upon  one  such  occasion  I  said  out  loud: 
"Thank  you,  God,  for  giving  me  this  little  boy." 

''You're  welcome,"  came  the  response  in  a  high-pitched  small 
voice  and  then  Breckie  said  in  his  natural  tones :  "Dat  was  God 
speaking  in  your  heart." 

A  moment  later  he  added :    "Boppie,  I  love  God." 

At  another  time  when  I  laid  him  down  and  was  caressing  him 
I  exclaimed:  "Such  a  dear  little  boy,  such  a  good  little  boy." 
He  said:  "Boppie,  I  twy  to  do  wight."  (O,  my  imperishable 
child,  the  sustaining  power  which  now  raises  me  is  just  a  simple 
trying  to  do  right.)  Often  he  pulled  me  down  with  "Boppie,  I 
want  to  kiss  you." 

I  went  early  to  bed  and  we  slept  fitfully,  for  his  nausea  con- 
tinued at  intervals  and  he  often  woke  and  seemed  in  discom- 
fort. About  one  in  the  morning  he  cried  out  for  the  first  time 
that  he  was  in  pain — that  his  stomach  hurt  him.  I  put  my  hand 
over  his  abdomen  and  found  on  pressure  that  the  pain  and  ten- 
derness were  both  in  the  lower  right  abdomen.  I  took  his  tem- 
perature but  he  still  had  no  fever,  pulse  but  slightly  quickened. 
The  pain  passed  almost  at  once  but  I  called  his  father  and  left 
Breckie  with  him  while  I  went  down  to  telephone  the  family 
physician  and  give  him  the  symptoms.  I  told  Breckie  where  I 
was  going  and  why  and  when  his  father  came  in  he  vouchsafed 
the  information :    "I  am  not  vewy  well." 

Dr.  Bolton  gave  me  directions  and  when  he  came  later  in  the 
morning  said  that  he  would  get  the  operating  room  ready  at  the 
little  hospital  so  that  he  could  operate  at  any  time  in  the  day 
if  it  seemed  best.  He  could  not  make  a  clear  diagnosis  of  any- 
thing on  examination — although  he  suspected  appendicitis  more 
than  anything  else.  The  nausea  meanwhile  had  stopped  and  the 
pain  did  not  recur.     Breckie  seemed  better.     There  were  no 


I 


BRECKIE  i8i 

pronounced  symptoms  of  any  kind — only  a  local  tenderness  and 
a  temperature  and  pulse  slightly  elevated. 

Dr.  Bolton  told  me  to  call  him  up  every  hour  or  two  during 
the  day  and  that  early  in  the  afternoon  if  not  sooner  he  would 
probably  decide  whether  or  not  to  intervene  surgically. 

So  Breckie  and  I  passed  a  day  together  which  I  recall  as  hav- 
ing been  inexpressibly  precious  in  its  early  hours.  He  did  not 
appear  to  be  in  any  particular  discomfort,  and  I  sat  by  his  bed 
with  my  head  down  by  his  as  we  both  loved  to  be.  I  had  given 
him  a  flat  little  pillow  I  always  used  and  I  said :  **This  four-year- 
old  boy  is  big  enough  for  a  pillow.  You  can  have  this  one, 
preciousness.  Boppie  gives  it  to  you  to  keep.  It*s  yours."  His 
face  lit  up  with  a  pleased  smile  and  thereafter  until  he  died  he 
used  it  constantly. 

One  time  when  I  had  to  leave  him  for  a  few  moments  and  my 
mother  had  taken  my  place  he  asked  her :  "What  are  you  knit- 
ting, Hoho?" 

"Helmets,"  she  answered,  "for  the  soldiers." 

"Did  you  knit  a  helmet  for  me  ?"  he  then  asked  her,  and  when 
she  replied  how  happy  it  had  made  her  to  do  it  he  said :  "Fank 
you,  Hoho,  for  dat  helmet.    It  keeps  my  neck  warm." 

The  latter  hours  of  the  day  were  hard.  Although  he  had  been 
given  salines  since  two  in  the  morning  and  had  retained  them 
all,  Breck's  thirst  became  excessive  and  he  begged  piteously  for 
water — "a  little  only."  I  telephoned  the  doctor  and  he  said  that 
when  he  returned  Breck  could  have  water,  since  if  he  were  better 
he  might  safely  be  allowed  it  in  small  quantities,  and  if  he  were 
not  he  could  have  a  drink  before  his  operation  anyway. 

I  came  back  and  told  him  he  could  have  a  drink  as  soon  as 
the  doctor  returned  and  thereafter  my  little  soldier,  reasonable 
even  in  the  pangs  of  his  terrible  thirst,  ceased  begging,  and 
began  instead  to  ask  when  Dr.  Bolton  would  come.  "O,  Boppie, 
don't  you  hear  his  automobile  ?"  "Isn't  it  time  for  him  to  come  ?" 
"Telephone  him  to  come  and  give  me  water." 

That  was  an  agonizing  afternoon  for  Breck  and  me.  But  never 
once  did  he  try  to  climb  out  of  bed,  or  even  to  raise  himself, 
or  make  any  effort  whatsoever  to  get  a  drink.     Even  when  I 


iS2  BRECKIE 

stepped  into  adjoining  rooms  I  knew  he  was  to  be  trusted. 
"Boppie,  I  pwomise  you  I  won't  get  up."  A  promise,  my  four- 
year-old,  to  be  trusted  unto  death. 

We  spent  the  most  of  these  leaden  hours  with  my  head  down 
by  Breck's  as  he  liked  to  have  it  and  both  of  us  saying  over  rather 
often  that  we  loved  each  other.  The  pain  returned  suddenly 
before  the  doctor's  visit.  I  telephoned  him  and  when  he  came  he 
said  it  was  essential  to  operate  without  delay  and  for  us  to  get 
Breck  to  the  little  hospital  at  once. 

He  went  to  this  hospital  and  to  the  operating  table  in  his 
father's  arms.  I  prepared  him  for  the  operation  and  he  made 
no  objection  to  having  his  painful  side  shaved  after  I  explained 
to  him  that  it  was  one  of  the  things  to  do  towards  getting  him 
well.  When  we  took  him  into  the  operating  room  he  cast  rather 
a  frightened  look  at  the  instruments  and  said:  "Are  dose  fings 
to  hurt  me?"  I  reassured  him  and  then  told  him  that  all  he 
would  have  to  do  would  be  to  breathe  in  a  bad  smell,  that  he 
wouldn't  like  it  but  that  it  was  something  to  help  him  get  well 
and  that  he  could  take  it  like  a  soldier.  His  only  reply  to  this 
was:  "I  will  smell  it  like  a  soldier,"  and  he  did.  Not  until  he 
was  partly  under  the  ether  did  he  struggle  or  cry  out,  for  the 
reasoning  habit  of  mind  common  to  him  did  not  fail  him  even 
here. 

I  stayed  with  him  until  he  was  anaesthetized  and  then  left  the 
room,  only  to  be  summoned  back  a  little  later  and  shown  where 
the  trouble  lay.  Not  in  the  appendix — but  so  much  more 
dreadful — intussusception,  an  abdomen  already  full  of  pus,  gen- 
eral peritonitis. 

When  he  came  down  from  the  operating  room  he  was  con- 
scious and  looked  a  little  wild-eyed.  "Boppie,  Boppie,"  he  said, 
"let's  go  home."    I  soothed  and  quieted  him. 

Then  began  our  fight  of  nearly  five  days'  duration  with  its 
alternations  of  hope  and  sinking  fears — "the  hopes  and  fears  of 
all  the  years" — a  fight  in  which  we  were  to  lose  out  at  the 
last.  We  had  two  excellent  nurses,  both  of  whom  had  nursed 
at  the  college  and  whom  I  knew  well.  Miss  Riley  took  day  duty. 
The  other  nurse,  who  took  night  duty,  Miss  Booth,  came  from 


BRECKIE  183 

Fort  Smith  and  was  twenty  hours  in  reaching  us  owing  to  the 
heavy  snow  and  consequent  derangement  of  traffic  on  the  rail- 
roads. I  helped  them  both,  resting  at  such  intervals  as  Breck 
seemed  at  his  best.  The  doctor  seldom  left  the  place  and  never 
for  more  than  two  or  three  hours.  He  told  my  mother,  who 
stayed  with  Dick  and  me,  that  Breckie  had  the  strongest  powers 
of  resistance  of  any  child  he  had  ever  treated — more  like  a  ten 
than  a  four-year-old  boy.  To  me  he  said:  "He  has  the  finest 
constitution  I  ever  saw  and  is  putting  up  a  wonderful  fight." 

But  I  think  the  thing  which  impressed  both  doctor  and  nurses 
more  even  than  his  vitality  was  his  attitude  of  mind — its  sweet 
reasonableness  at  all  times,  even  the  most  painful.  To  this  we 
were  accustomed  but  others  found  it  extraordinary  in  a  four- 
year-old  child  and  it  was  this  which  caused  the  doctor  to  tell  me : 
"He  is  a  marvelous  child." 

When  his  wound  was  dressed  for  the  first  time  they  fastened 
his  hands  and  arms  with  a  sheet.  But  I  told  them  it  wasn't  neces- 
sary, that  he  wouldn't  touch  the  sterile  towels  or  the  wound  if 
they  explained  to  him  about  them.  To  Breck  I  said:  "The 
doctor  has  made  a  little  window  in  your  abdomen,  darling,  to  let 
out  some  germs  and  microbes  and  bacteria  which  made  you  sick. 
Now  he  must  clean  out  this  window  and  you  mustn't  touch  while 
he  does  it."  He  replied  that  he  would  not  and  I  stayed  at  the 
head  of  his  bed,  gently  holding  his  hands  or  petting  and  kissing 
his  forehead. 

In  this  supreme  crisis  of  the  little  child's  life  he  kept  the 
simple  ideal  he  had  cherished  every  common  day — that  of  being 
a  brave  soldier.  Many  a  weak  and  selfish  desire,  many  a  dread 
of  small  pains  and  ills,  had  he  sacrificed  in  acquiring  an  attitude 
of  mind  now  so  habitual  that  almost  instinctively  he  "twied  to  do 
wight."  Not  once  in  all  the  days  and  nights  of  his  desperate 
illness  did  he  cry,  or  whine^  or  fret.  Not  once  was  he  anything 
but  amenable  to  reason.  When  his  wound  had  to  be  dressed 
again  and  he  objected  the  doctor  said :    "It's  necessary,  Breck." 

"O,"  said  Breckie,  and  made  no  further  objection. 

After   his   hypodermics,   to   which   he    submitted   without   a 


i84  BRECKIE 

shadow  of  resistance,  he  generally  asked:  "Was  I  bwave  as  a 
soldier?" 

Once  he  said,  thinking  of  Breckinridge  Ten  Eycke:  "My 
cousin  died,  what  was  a  bwave  soldier." 

Once  he  cried  out  when  something  hurt  him  very  much  and 
Dr.  Bolton  said :  "You  weren't  really  crying,  Breck.  You  were 
just  squealing." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  pleased  to  be  restored  to  his  ideal,  "I  was 
des  squealing." 

I  am  sure  that  he  must  have  felt  very  ill  and  have  been  in 
frequent  pain — but  when  the  doctor  asked:  "How  do  you  feel, 
Breck?"  he  generally  answered:  "All  wight."  Once  I  heard 
him  reply :    "O,  not  vewy  well." 

On  the  first  night  of  his  illness  he  recalled  that  I  had  told  him 
the  doctor's  little  daughter  had  pneumonia  and  asked:  "Dr. 
Bolton,  how  is  Phyllis?" 

His  individuality  stood  out  almost  until  the  end.  When  he 
vomited  he  sometimes  wanted  one  pus  basin,  a  curved  one  of 
Miss  Riley's,  and  sometimes  another — a  little  round  basin  we  had 
brought  with  us.  When  he  was  allowed  the  small  amounts  of 
water  with  which  his  intense  thirst  was  at  intervals  assuaged 
(O,  my  baby,  did  it  make  for  the  grandeur  of  your  evolving 
soul  that  you  should  have  been  tortured  thus?  Ah,  but  you 
must  have  grown  a  thousand  years — )  he  always  had  a  prefer- 
ence in  what  he  was  to  take  it.  "My  little  silver  cup — "  "A 
long  glass  wif  a  tube — "  "De  wed  and  white  glass  and  a 
spoon—"  "De  little  boat—'*  When  I  said  once :  "A  drink  of 
hot  water  is  good  for  little  sick  boys,"  he  repeated  it,  looking 
pleased. 

Once  he  became  interested  in  the  proctoclysis  with  its  tubing 
and  I  promised  him  that  when  he  was  better  he  should  have  it 
to  hold  and  play  with  if  he  liked.  On  another  occasion  he  told 
me  his  nail  was  "bwoken"  and  to  trim  it  with  the  little  scissorc. 
Sick  as  he  was  few  things  escaped  his  observation.  He  noticed 
for  instance  that  his  arm  was  scrubbed  with  a  bit  of  cotton  before 
and  after  each  hypodermic  and  reminded  his  nurse  to  "wash" 
his  arm. 


I 


BRECKIE  185 

Upon  one  occasion  I  heard  him  pronounce  an  r  distinctly — 
the  first  time  he  had  done  it.  He  said  "already"  and  the  r  sound 
in  the  word  was  plain. 

Two  or  three  times  with  me  he  became  alive  to  the  flood  of  ten- 
derness habitually  passing  between  us  in  better  days.  Once, 
when  I  bent  over  him  and  whispered:  "This  is  Sheepblossom," 
he  answered,  "Dis  is  Jimmie."  Once  he  asked  me  to  lay  my  head 
down  by  his,  and  once  he  looked  up  with  a  flash  of  his  old 
radiance,  saying:  "Boppie,  I  want  to  kiss  you."  Then  I  felt 
his  lips  brushing  my  cheek. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day  we  were  encouraged.  Up 
until  then  he  had  held  his  own  but  on  that  morning  certain 
favorable  symptoms  led  us  to  believe  that  he  was  doing  a  little 
more  than  that.  I  said  to  him:  "Pidgy,  darling,  when  you  are 
better  Boppie  is  going  to  get  you  a  drum." 

He  looked  at  me  seriously  and  replied:  "De  dwums  are  all 
saled." 

"I  know,  my  blessing,'*  I  said,  "the  ones  here  are  sold  and  that 
was  why  you  didn't  have  one  on  your  birthday.  But  Boppie  is 
going  to  send  off  to  a  big  city  and  have  them  send  you  a  drum — 
all  the  way  from  a  big  city." 

Somehow,  though  it's  only  a  little  thing,  it  hurts  me  to  remem- 
ber that  he  never  had  that  drum.  It's  the  only  promise  I  ever 
made  him  which  I  couldn't  keep. 

His  uncle  Carson  had  sent  a  draft  to  buy  him  his  Christmas 
present  and  it  came  during  his  illness.  My  mother  went  in  to 
him  the  morning  of  this  fourth  day  and  told  him  about  it,  saying 
that  when  he  was  well  he  should  take  the  draft  to  the  bank  and 
get  money  for  it  and  then  take  the  money  down  town  and  buy 
whatever  he  liked  best  in  the  shops.  He  looked  pleased  and  he 
even  smiled.  Just  before  she  left  him  she  said:  "May  I  kiss 
your  hand,  Breckinridge?"  And  for  response  he  held  it  out  to 
her. 

About  the  middle  of  this  day  when  we  had  been  most  hopeful 
and  all  the  symptoms  were  growing  favorable,  except  possibly 
the  pulse,  his  poisoned,  tired  heart  began  to  give  way.  If  the 
infection  had  been  a  little  less  virulent,  or  a  little  less  general, 


i86  BRECKIE 

he  would  not  have  succumbed  to  it.  As  it  was  he  grew  slowly 
worse  that  afternoon  and  with  the  coming  of  night  hope  folded 
her  wings  and  prepared  to  take  flight. 

He  had  been  so  stimulated  that  in  spite  of  morphine  he  was 
fearfully  excited,  and  very  tired  from  all  the  things  we  were 
constantly  doing  to  restore  him  and  from  a  little  nervous  cough 
that  set  in  that  last  night.  Even  then  he  did  not  complain  or 
fret,  only  once  again  he  said  to  me :  "Boppie,  let's  go  home."  It 
seemed  to  me  that  he  thought,  poor  child,  that  if  we  were  back 
in  the  old  familiar  surroundings  things  would  be  with  him  as  they 
were  before. 

It  became  imperative  for  him  to  sleep.  But  he  could  not  and 
always  he  kept  picking  at  his  coverings.  At  last  I  leaned  over  the 
head  of  his  bed  and,  while  the  cool  air  blew  in  through  an  ppen 
window  from  the  snowy  night  outside,  I  pressed  the  ice  cap 
filled  with  snow  against  his  hot  little  head  and  began  talking 
in  a  low  voice  such  soothing  nonsense  as  formerly  delighted 
him. 

"Sandman  is  coming  with  a  great  big  bucket  of  sand  to  put 
my  baby  to  sleep.  Boreas,  blow  on  the  baby  and  put  him  to 
sleep.  All  the  little  stars  have  gone  to  sleep  in  the  sky.  The 
little  woolly  wolf  is  curled  up  asleep  in  the  cave  with  the  mother 
woolly  wolf,  the  little  cub  bear  lies  asleep  in  the  hollow  tree,  the 
birdies  are  sleeping  in  their  nests,  the  little  tree  frogs  have  gone 
to  sleep  in  the  trees.  The  Sandman  threw  sand  at  the  little 
tree  frogs  and  put  them  to  sleep.  Jimmie  is  asleep  in  his  bed  and 
Breckinridge  is  going  to  sleep  too  in  his  bed,  for  the  Sandman 
has  come  with  a  great  big  bucket  of  sand  to  put  my  baby  to 
sleep.    Boreas  blow  on  the  baby  and  he  will  sleep." 

I  talked  like  this  for  a  long  time  and  my  darling  slept  at  last, 
except  nearly  always  for  that  restless  picking  at  the  covers  with 
his  left  hand. 

Those  were  the  last  hours  before  hope  left  us  altogether,  I 
don't  know  just  when,  but  some  time  before  dawn  I  began  to 
read  in  the  sorrowful  faces  of  my  sister  nurses  and  from  the 
tears  which  stood  in  the  doctor's  eyes  what  was  all  too  plainly 
written  on  the  gallant  little  figure  that  lay  before  me  dying. 


BRECKIE  187 

Then  I  put  my  head  down  by  his  in  the  old  familiar  way  and 
whispered :    ''This  little  baby  will  soon  be  well." 

He  died  at  five  minutes  after  three  in  the  afternoon — ^but  I  had 
lost  track  of  time  as  I  sat  by  him  through  the  hours.  Towards 
the  last  he  was  allowed  to  have  all  the  fresh  snow  he  wanted  and 
so  long  as  he  could  swallow  I  fed  it  to  him,  first  with  a  spoon 
and  then  with  my  fingers.  While  he  could  speak  he  asked  for  it 
and  seemed  eager  for  it  while  he  was  conscious  of  anything.  You 
little  boy,  who  never  passed  one  of  your  mountain  springs  with- 
out drinking,  have  you  drunk  of  the  river  of  life  freely  and  shall 
you  thirst  now  no  more? 

He  wanted  to  be  turned  from  one  side  to  the  other — ^but  doing 
it  hurt  him.  However  he  did  not  fret  or  complain  but  played  his 
part  of  brave  soldier  so  long  as  conscious  life  remained  to 
him. 

There  followed  the  unconscious  hours  when  he  lay  with  one 
chubby  hand  under  his  cheek  as  I  had  so  often  seen  him  in  his 
sleep.  Like  so  many  years  they  seemed  to  me,  those  hours,  sitting 
there  with  the  sword  that  was  piercing  through  my  own  soul 
also.  It  came  over  me,  as  I  sat  there,  how  truly  he  had  spoken 
when  he  said  he  "twied  to  do  wight"  and  how  hard  it  must  have 
been  at  four  years.  But  he  had  measured  up  to  the  magnitude 
of  it.  He  had  done  right  as  he  saw  it.  He  had  taken  all  the 
unaccustomed  suffering  terminating  his  happy  Hfe  without  ques- 
tioning why  it  had  come,  because  he  believed  it  was  right  for  a 
soldier  to  be  brave. 

I  felt  as  if  I  were  in  the  presence  of  a  great  law  that  had 
been  obeyed  and,  further,  that  the  laws  of  pain  accepted  and  used 
might  become  a  force  as  mighty  as,  for  instance,  the  laws  of 
fire  which  bless  or  burn  according  as  we  understand  and  obey 
them.  With  Breckinridge  we  had  ever  tried  to  teach  him  obedi- 
ence to  law,  not  blind  obedience  to  us  who  only  deserved  his  re- 
spect when  we  too  obeyed  the  laws  we  interpreted  to  him.  Now 
the  little  child  had  learned  his  lesson  and  I  knew  that  only  by 
becoming  like  him  could  I  enter  with  him  into  the  kingdom  of 
heaven. 

I  decided  then,  in  those  vaster  reaches  of  the  mind  where  my 


i88  BRECKIE 

spirit  seemed  to  be  brushing  his,  that  the  Power  which  had 
placed  him  here  had  a  right  to  withdraw  him — a  right  exercised 
perhaps  not  the  less  purposefully  because  it  operated  through 
natural  law — and  that  if  I  could  accept  the  action  of  law  as  I 
understood  it  I  might  become  worthy  of  being  the  mother  of 
my  son.  When  I  came  to  this  conclusion  I  leaned  over  to  the 
unconscious  child  and  told  him  that  I  too  would  try  to  do  what 
was  right. 

By  his  bed  at  the  last  besides  the  doctor  and  trained  nurses 
and  his  father  and  me  were  his  grandfather  and  grandmother, 
Aunt  Jane,  his  nurse  Juliette,  his  cousin  Florence,  and  those  loyal 
friends  of  his — Camille  and  B.  These  were  the  people  on  our 
side,  the  human  group,  all  that  we,  restrained  by  the  limitations 
of  our  senses,  could  perceive;  but  who  shall  say  that  a  valiant 
host  of  the  heroes  he  worshiped  were  not  present  also  to 
welcome  my  Greatheart  when  he  passed  over  to  the  other 
side  ? 


AFTERWARDS 

Hence  in  a  season  of  calm  weather 

Though  inland  far  we  be 
Our  souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea 

Which  brought  us  hither, 
Can  in  a  moment  travel  thither, 
And  see  the  children  sport  upon  the  shore, 
And  hear  the  mighty  waters  rolling  evermore. 

— Wordsworth. 


AFTERWARDS 

WE,  my  father,  mother,  Dick,  and  I,  carried  the  little  body 
down  to  Fort  Smith  for  burial  by  the  side  of  our  baby 
girl.  All  morning  Thursday  it  lay  in  the  home  where  he  was 
bom  while  inexpressibly  tender  friends  gathered  around  us. 
Juliette  had  chosen  the  clothes  to  put  on  him — one  of  his  white 
and  blue  middy  suits  and  the  sandals  in  which  he  had  tramped 
about  the  hills  through  the  summer.  In  his  arms  I  laid  the  Teddy 
Bear  that  had  slept  with  him  for  over  two  years. 

He  was  not  much  less  chubby,  and  though  I  had  cut  close  his 
curly  hair  because  of  the  fever  and  the  gorgeous  red  had  gone  out 
of  his  cheeks  and  the  radiance  from  his  face  and  the  eyes  were 
closed  and  dead,  yet  it  seemed  a  part  of  Breckie  still  which  lay 
there — and  this  part  I  knew  that  I  should  never  see  again. 
Precious  little  body,  eager  little  hands  and  feet, — I  am  glad  I 
gave  them  freedom  while  I  had  them,  if  Breckinridge  no  longer 
needs  them  in  his  development  then  let  them, go. 

He  lay,  with  the  flowers  massed  all  about  and  the  Teddy  Bear 
in  his  arms,  under  the  Sully  portrait  of  his  great,  great,  great 
grandfather  Breckinridge  who  was  a  good  and  useful  man  in  his 
day.  I  never  saw  marked  likenesses  in  Breckie  to  any  one — 
but  something  in  the  shape  of  the  forehead  as  he  lay  there  re- 
sembled the  picture  looking  down  at  him  and  I  was  proud  when 
I  thought  of  their  meeting  that  Breckie,  like  the  soldier  cousin 
just  preceding  him,  had  measured  up  to  the  best  traditions  of  his 
race. 

"Mammy"  came,  his  negro  mammy,  and  sobbed  in  Dick*s  arms. 
She  thought  her  baby  had  grown  "awful  long"  since  the  days 
when  she  nursed  him. 

We  had  no  services  of  any  kind  in  our  home  or  at  the  grave. 
God  didn't  need  to  be  told  about  Breckie.  Friends  carried 
the  little  casket  across  the  grass  and,  with  Boreas  blowing  over 

191 


192  BRECKIE 

him  and  the  sunshine  in  which  his  short  life  had  been  spent 
sparkling  down  on  the  patches  of  snow, — with  only  the  wind 
he  loved  speaking  and  the  sunshine  listening, — this  child  of  the 
open  air  was  given  back  to  the  Immensity  from  which  he 
came. 

On  his  grave  and  that  of  our  girl  baby  the  flowers  were 
heaped,  and  there,  on  the  high  ground  above  the  Arkansas  river, 
facing  its  lofty  bluffs,  there  stands  my  nursery.  Let  Boreas 
blow  ever  so  wildly  he  cannot  waken  the  little  sleepers  in  my 
nursery,  and  I  know  that,  whatever  the  ultimate  outcome,  my 
human  children  are  dead.  But  sometimes  I  feel  that  subcon- 
sciously perhaps  I  come  in  touch  with  them  and  that  even  now, 
while  one  part  of  me  sits  crushed  beyond  the  sound  of  sweetest 
voices  and  pattering  feet,  a  larger  and  better  part  is  playing 
with  Breckie  and  his  sister  on  that  seashore  of  endless  worlds 
where  the  children  meet  with  shouts  and  songs  and  dances. 


CONCLUSION 

O  sister,  sister,  thy  first-begotten! 

The  hands  that  cling  and  the  feet  that  follow, 
The  voice  of  the  child's  blood  crying  yet, 

Who  hath  remembered  me?    Who  hath  forgotten? 
Thou  hast  forgotten,  O  summer  swallow. 

But  the  world  will  end  when  I  forget. 

— Swinburne. 


SPRING  has  come  again  to  the  Ozark  mountains.  March  with 
warm  light  has  dispelled  the  bitter  winter.  The  red  bnd  and 
dogwood  are  in  bloom  in  the  forests  and  underfoot  the  wild 
flowers.  In  my  garden  the  crocuses  have  come  and  gone  and  the 
jonquils  and  yellow  tulips  are  blooming. 

The  hens  in  the  Dairy  Hollow  are  sitting  on  their  nests  and 
the  Belgian  hares  have  new  young  ones.  The  process  of  smoking 
the  black  and  white  pig  is  long  since  completed.  On  many  hill- 
sides are  women  picking  dandelion  greens  and  Juliette,  with 
Brooke,  is  among  them.  The  great  tree  the  Camis  bought  for 
firewood  has  been  cut  down — ^but  Juliette  says  that  she  could  not 
see  its  fall  because  of  her  tears.  She  and  I  are  making  Breckie's 
garden  and  planting  it  as  he  had  planned.  "Le  pauvre  petit," 
she  says,  "il  faisait  tant  de  projets." 

There  is  not  a  rod  of  ground  within  miles  over  which  I  walk 
where  his  little  feet  have  not  trudged,  not  a  spring  at  which  his 
sunny  face  was  not  turned  to  drink,  not  a  creeping  thing,  hardly 
a  stone  or  bush  or  tree,  or  puff  of  wind  which  does  not  recall 
the  gallant-hearted  child  who  fraternized  with  them.  At  night 
on  his  balcony  I  look  at  the  moon  and  stars  thinking:  "These 
perhaps  we  hold  in  common  even  yet." 

And  still,  although  my  human  heart  is  so  broken  as  not  to 
make  the  fragments  worth  gathering  together  again,  my  mind  has 
accepted  Breckie's  death  from  the  first  and  is  not  tortured  about 
him  at  all. 

It  is  otherwise  of  other  deaths.  No  one  has  really  been  a 
mother  who  has  not  yearned  over  children  everywhere.  Breck- 
inridge's happy  childhood  has  passed  indeed  but  left  only  golden 
memories.  The  brief  suffering  at  the  end  cannot  obliterate  the 
joyous  whole  where  one  day  of  delight  succeeded  another  in  his 
fairyland. 

But  what  of  other  children — the  majority  of  all   children? 

195 


196  BRECKIE 

What  of  childhood?  From  the  desolated  shores  of  Armenia  to 
the  Balkan  mountains,  from  the  plains  of  Poland  to  the  Belgian 
and  French  coast  and  over  at  last  to  the  streets  of  our  great 
cities  and  the  farms  of  our  remoter  hills  travels  that  cry  of 
childhood  which  throughout  the  ages  has  been  the  cry  of 
martyrdom.  This  my  reason  cannot  accept — this  tortures  the 
devout  in  my  soul. 

Is  there  not  wrong  too  bitter  for  atoning? 

What  are  these  desperate  and  hideous  years? 
Hast  thou  not  heard  Thy  whole  creation  groaning, 

Sighs  of  the  bondsmen,  and  the  children's  tears? 

There  is  a  work  beside  which  all  other  strikes  me  as  puerile — 
the  work  which  seeks  to  raise  the  status  of  childhood  every- 
where, so  that  finally  from  pole  to  pole  of  this  planet  all  of  the 
little  ones  come  into  that  health  and  happiness  which  is  their 
due.  If  every  one  who  had  ever  loved  a  child  would  but  do  his 
part  this  might  come  to  pass.  What  if  we  do  not  understand? 
What  if  we  cannot  be  held  responsible  for  the  way  God  has 
ordered  His  world?  There  lies  nevertheless  deep  in  the  heart 
of  every  child  lover  a  feeling  of  responsibility  which  will  not 
let  him  put  the  thing  aside.  If  God  cherishes  His  little  ones  only 
in  my  breast,  says  the  child  lover,  He  cherishes  them  there,  and 
I  fight  for  them — fight  until  that  ancient  saying  has  come  true, 
until  He  shall  gather  the  Lambs  ...  in  His  bosom,  and  gently 
lead  those  that  are  with  young.  And  when  the  crooked  paths 
are  made  straight  and  the  waste  places  smooth  it  will  be  time 
enough  for  me  to  understand. 


One  morning,  some  days  after  Breckie's  death,  Brooke  said 
reminiscently  to  his  grandmother :  **Once  when  we  were  coming 
back  from  the  Dairy  Hollow  Breckinridge  said  that  he  was  a 
bird  and  could  fly."  After  a  moment  he  added  reflectively :  "He 
was  always  falling  down,  but  he  said  that  he  could  fly.'* 

Such  was  my  Greatheart.  Even  so  did  his  soaring  spirit 
overreach  the  limitations  of  its  embodiment.  *'He  was  always 
falling  down — ^but  he  said  that  he  could  fly." 


1^ 
I 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


27^ug'62HH 


^RECTDHLCn 


SETTTBeZ" 


SENT  ON  ILL 


SEP  2  1  2006 

ITC.BERKhLbV  ' 


LD  21A-50to-3,'62 
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General  Library     _ 
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Berkeley 


Thocips 


ridgo 


^ 


Dreckie,|iii3   four  yearp 
1914-1918 


T4 


YC  03844 


869004 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


